Drinks for the Dead: The Aftermath

Globix finished off the Whoa-men and is now the current kill leader

What Globix Corp. says, Globix Corp. does, without reserve or trepidation!

Like a prediction from an old raggedy toothed psychic suffering
gonorrhea , FlipDog said Bad Mamma Jamma would go down in short order.
4 hours later that same day, Brock Samson, OSI protege, adventurer and
above all, love machine, delivered a package of wet death upon the
voodoo queen.

Globix Corporation started the hunt last night with the full team in
attendance. We had the front, the back, the inside, and the outside
covered, but our little mamma was nowhere to be seen. Using my years
of experience in psychological analysis(It was an elective when I got
my Masters in cruel and unusual tortures.) I posited the our mark
wasn't going to make her appearance till 10 at the least, so I hit up
my handler for whiskey and herbal refreshment. Further analysis by the
team including apt snooping lead us to believe this WHOA-Men captain
was actually in for the night since she left work, so we decided it
was time to get sauced as any Corporation does during downtime, in the
morning, and at lunch. Tomorrow is another day and we have patience.

Working independantly like terrorist cells, we operated during the
day. Knowing my need for security the city and the fed mobilized
downtown around my office providing a safe haven spanning more than
one city block. I had a full sniper detail on roofs around the world
trade center pit, and riot gear cops ensuring no crazy Oswald or
Hinckley character was going to take me out, or even tail me. With
mine and my teams future safe and guarded by this great city we
returned to the hunt.

As FlipDog working independently from our outpost in Brooklyn moved in
for the kill on Gold E Lox, I was getting into position at the Bad
Mamma Jamma's place. I was just the ubiquitas guy waiting for a
friend. Ding! Text from FlipDog. "Gold E Lox has been shmeared on a
bagel. May she Drie in peace." Perfect, now Bad Mamma Jamma thinks her
assassin is in Brooklyn, maybe she'll let her guard down. I wait, I
have visitors, catch up with my contacts around the city and call my
Mark for a little scouting.

BS: Hi XXXXX,
BMJ:Yes.
BS: Hi, this is Ted Stimson, from Tech Services at work.
BMJ: I'm sorry, who?
BS: Ted Stimson. Look, we've been getting alerts of some high email
traffic, and large data transfers on your account. Is everything
alright. Do you have your Blackberry with you?
BMJ: I don't have a Blackberry.
BS: Oh, we seem to have that on our records, well then do you have
email on your phone?
BMJ: No, I don't. Who is this again?
BS: Ted Stimson, look me up on the intranet. I work at Tech Services.
Ok, look we're going to monitor this and dig a little, are you going
to be available by the phone if we have any more questions?
BMJ: Yes.
BS: OK, great, thanks. Bye.
BMJ: Bye.

Ok, so there was no ambient noise, she's not outside, doubtful she's
stalking, she's either home or at a friends, and I know she's not one
of the myriad of women walking down the street on her Blackberry. It's
time to get aggressive. I easily make entry to the building via the
side entrance next to the crack park behind the building and head to
her floor, using deduction skills Sherlock Holmes would be jealous of,
I determine the premises was still vacant. I could wait or I could
hunker down. Brock Samson doesn't need to hunker down, Brock Samson
weighs his odds, judges his victim, and knows she's not coming back
till after 10. I thought it before, and think it again. Time to get
sauced.

I meet a group of lady's at Mercury Bar, and instantly the bartender
hooks up my Dirty Vodka, 3 Olives. I regile them with stories of my
adventures, and drink in the night. It's fierce and there's lots to
do, like get my kill. 9:45 rolls around and my fingers getting itchy,
maybe it was the itchy nerve I've had since Bosnia, or maybe it was
the smell in the air, but I knew I had to get back.

Once again, with the skills of "The Shadow" I'm in her building and at
her door. There's voices, conversations, the lights are on, did I miss
her? How could I miss her, I FELT! she wasn't home. Ok, regroup,
conference in the stairwell. Team advice, "No man is an island. Not
even ME!" FlipDog my partner, my hombre, my moustache if you will,
although we never fought a bear together, picks up the phone at my
call. "Is she home? Are we done tonight? Should I come tomorrow?"
Sounds likely, but it don't feel that way. I start getting off the
phone and heading to the elevator when a couple walks by, the girl...
a blonde! But the guy was in front of me.... I play it cool, a guy
walking to the elevator... Ok, look back, is that them, what apartment
are they going toooo.

Yes, that's it, that's her, I start flying down the hallway, my
shooter in my hand outstretched like Adam reaching out to GOD, I was
blazing down the hallway like Keanu in the Matrix, and oh so Bad Mamma
Jamma starts screaming, "I knew it." as she fumbles for her keys and
her friend covers her from my oncoming spray. She is quick with those
fingers and get's entry into her place, I careen in front of her door,
spraying it like Zorro, but she's inside. Do I sigh in desperation? No
way, I'm Brock Samson mother fuckers! And she left her keys in the
door. I could of easily pushed it open and shot her without gaining
entry, but I like to play with kills, and my women, so I pull back a
sec and wait. Let her stew! What's she going to do without her keys.
I'm not in view of the peeper... and her roommate reaches for the keys
but is met with a spray in the eyes to protect my bargaining chip. She
shrinks away reluctant to try again. They know I'm there and I'm not
leaving. I let the keys jingle to show I mean business, and Bad Mamma
Jamma cracks. She cracks! And after only one jingle! No, "Warriors,
come out and playayay. Waarrriiiorrrs, come out and playayayayay!",
no, it only took one jingle and she was done. Like a white flag from
behind her door, she says "Alright, I'm done.", pops it open and
offers up her Ass. Ofcourse I was locked and loaded, and with an ass
like that, I was happy and only too eager to give her a spray. Cheers
to Bad Mamma Jamma, maybe next time she'll at least have a gun!

So this makes 4 kills in 4 days, and every target we've had we've
taken out. This includes subordinates. We're not just plucking
captains, so people beware. Globix Corporation is the new kid on the
corporate park. You know the fifth column X-files talked about? We
bought them out years ago. You know G.W. Bush? He's in our pocket!
Illuminati, that's what I call my nightlight when I shoot with my
sniper rifle.

In short!
GLOBIX CORP AIN'T NOTHIN' TO FUCK WITH!
GLOBIX CORP AIN'T NOTHIN' TO FUCK WITH!
GLOBIX CORP AIN'T NOTHIN' TO FUCK WITH!
GLOBIX CORP AIN'T NOTHIN' TO FUCK WITH!

***

The Elders of Zion issued a Cherem edict against Agent Johanna Harris

To The Powers That Be In The Shadow Government

Team Elders of Zion took out their target, agent Jordan Harris.
After numerous unsuccessful stake outs we decided that today would be the day of the kill. We woke up early and split up. Agent LazyNinja stalked out the targets home while agent Dachs took up a position at her work. After hours of waiting, hands cramped and palms clammy with sweat from clutching my weapons handle, we struck up a witty banter with our target via txt messaging. Eventualy she emerged from her abode and was taken out by agent LazyNinja. We tip our hats to agent Jordan Harris she was truly distinguished in the face of her own demise.

Killcode: h7Lbnep1L_Ut63ok_
ID:789

From The Protocals of the Elders of Zion:: Friday; 9/12/2008

***

Cupcake Commando aquatically defenestrated Flomax of the Hihats

It is with great pleasure that I, cupcake commando, report my first kill.

It was a tough one, as agent Flomax seemed to never be home, and he didn't have a centralized job that I could stake out. I did some recon on Monday and discovered that his main office was in Westbury, not NYC as it said on his sheet. I called the office to inquire if he was in, and the secretary informed me that he was not in but the office closes at 4. If they close at 4, I figured they must open early. Monday night I parked directly outside his apartment for four hours with no sign of him. Hungry and having a major case of the sobers, I met a friend at a bar for some drinks. After, another hour of watching, and nothing.

I went to his office in Westbury on tuesday morning to prepare for my wednesday stakeout. Industrial area, I could blend in easily. But fuck was it far from civilization. Tuesday evening I had another engagement and couldn't hunt.

Wednesday morning I woke up at the buttcrack of dawn and drove my sleep deprived ass to his office. This would have to be precise, as the front of his building was a parking lot (and legal), but it was only about 3 car lengths wide. A few quick steps and he'd be inside the office and untouchable. Should he park on the street, he'd only have about a 5 second walk from the sidewalk across the parking lot to the office door. I waited. And waited. And at about 745am, employees started showing up for work. At around 845, with no sign of him, I called and inquired if the target was inside. Annoyed, suspicious, and bitchy, the receptionist told me that while he is employed there, he NEVER comes to the office. Snottily asking if she could help me, I hung up, and drove off, pissed. And tired. And late to work. Wed evening, and I'm sitting down the street from his apartment again with a clear view of the door. Waited about an hour and a half, then had to leave for dinner plans. (Azuki, should anyone not know it, is the shit. Free unlimited sake with dinner) Drunk, and it getting late, I thought it best to go home. I charged down the street of my apartment, stumbling, with a huge neon water gun in my hands, unchallenged. Walked right in my front door a little upset that I had yet to see my assassin, but that all changed with the tequila I had once inside. Tequila is awesome.

Was outside his apartment again this morning. No sign of him. Had to leave for work. Left my office around 6pm, was outside his apartment watching, waiting by 630. I see a girl leave the building and wait outside. I think she might be his lookout, but turns out This Is It I say to myself. I approach her, and shyly give her the rundown. She grins, and says "I can't let you in because my roommate is your target!" I'm angry at myself for giving myself away so easily. I figure I'm fucked now, she knows what I look like, knows what my car looks like, and is going to give it all up to the roommate. We chat for a little anyway, and we both have conflicting information on her roommate. Turns out her roommate is NOT my target. Stroke of luck. She then says, "sure, go right on in!" and unlocks the door for me. She wishes me luck as I head on upstairs, quietly. The walls are paper thin. I can hear someone screaming downstairs. I creep up the first flight of stairs, right up to the door. I quietly press my ear against it, and I can hear muffled voices. He's inside. I head down the hall, and park my ass on the steps. From the steps, I can just see the top corner of his door. If he were to look out the peep hole, or open the door and look down the hall, he wouldn't be able to see me. I sit. I sit some more. Somewhere, in an apartment somewhere, someone farts. Seriously. And it's not a quiet little fart, it's fucking echoing through the building. This was the most insane fart I've ever heard. I'm trying so hard not to laugh. I literally have to bite my tongue to stop myself from making any noise. Tears streaming from my eyes, I hear a noise. A lock. I peek over and see the top of the door; it swings open. I press my back up against the wall and try to be as flat as possible. OK, Here Goes I say to myself. It's at this point that I don't give a fuck if it's my target or his roommate, someone's getting wetted. Target is heading down the stairs. I approach, and immediately forget his name. "Dan? Jimmy? Roger?" I tried about 9 names, one of which must have been his, because he looks up at me and I immediately recognize that Yes, it IS my target. I fire, hitting him square in the chest. Victory. What did him in? Chinese food delivery.

Agent Flomax was a gentleman about it; nice guy. He didn't get his package yet, so he didn't have his card. Please send me my next assignment.

-cupcake commando

***

Agent Orange spread his herbicide all over the Shadow Hunter

I'm happy to report that Agent Shadow Hunter went down, without a fight but not without (a tiny bit of) drama.

i soaked the sucker today at 5:10p after he crossed the street to hit
the local deli to stock up on Arizona ice tea. after getting
thoroughly showered he immediately disputed the kill, asserting that
he was still in his safe zone.
A quick phone call to the Supreme Commander clarified the situation
and the drama was over.
Interestingly enough, after asking him for his ID he admitted that he
just got back to the US and didn't even pickup his package yet...
...countless hours in front of his house where wasted... ..oh well...

in related news, i soaked a guy called "Trevor" from the team thats
after me, last night at around 11:30pm in fronty of my house.
his wife is still out there and eager to have drunken sloppy sex with
me but at least hubby wont get in the way.

for now i'll go back to plotting my evening in the bar and are
awaiting further instructions about who's next.

until then i remain,

Agent Orange

Supreme Commander,

We have dispatched Agent BVN (which we assume stands for Brainless Vaginal Necrophiliac), unleashing liquid death on this pudgy, putrid programmer. He was arrogantly brandishing his weapon outside a bar on Bleeker, trying to impress a female who was obviously waiting for a real man to show up. Needless to say, not only did we take his card (killcode: GwNb2ESUrP5HqH4QJ), we took his bitch too (36-23.5-35).

We want more.

In umbra, igitur, pugnabimus,
Arctic Shade

***

Iceman defrosted PSmith temporary leader of Your Watery Grave

Murder Death Kill.

Ms Psmith, leader of The Watery Grave has been eliminated.

Killcode: B1srLpXbikqn2QUImu

After sketchily lurking on 127th street for 2 hours, entrance into the target's residence was gained. Another 2 hours later she emerged from her lair to be met with an aerial assault.

I kill like I fly: Ice cold, no mistakes.

Respectfully requesting new targets.

***

Ron and Fez curbed Dark Asian

After two days of constant surveillance our persistence paid off. Our target seemed to not even live where he said he did, since not one light was see on in his home for the last two days. And yesterday one of us was kicked off a stoop for smoking cigarettes, god for fucking bid you have a cigarette butt on your stoop. Cock Knocking neightbors aside, one of our team members decided to run by Dark Asian's home in the morning, trying to nail him before work.

As soon as they reached the targets home, they saw the lights on and our target leaving his apartment. We were spotted but were able to cut Dark Asian off two blocks away before he hit the train. The poor young man was cut down in the street, riddled with water and shame, he was armed but did not have his weapon in hand. Unfortunately our team all had work this morning so we couldn't get drunk, we'll save it for later tonight. So we just jumped on the train to our jobs, like confused runaway bisexual BFF's.

***

Propaganda shut down Blackout City

Thought you might enjoy some reading other than my killcode. Hope you like my recap/short story:

As the front door rattled, my friend Mike from Canada gave me a significant look from atop the planter directly in front of the apartment building. This was it, the moment that would make it all worth it. The strange stares, the disapproving glances, the people muttering to themselves—wondering why two twenty-somethings were lying in wait with waterguns. This was an ambush, pure and simple. This was StreetWars.

I learned early on that I am not a stealthy individual. Earlier in the week, after Mustache Commander and Supreme Commander handed me my targets (two gentlemen under the name Team Blackout City), I had thought I could quickly oust my two targets. Waiting outside that first building on Monday night, I foolishly tried to convince a young professional-looking guy to let me into the building so I could soak one of the team members. He hemmed and hawed, told me that he didn’t know who I was talking about, and in either case, that guy wasn’t home.

Strange, I had thought. Removing that encounter from my mind I waited until an elderly gentleman entered the building. Tiptoeing to the apartment, I knocked but heard no response. Peering in, I saw the lights on but no one home. No problem. I could wait patiently on the steps next to the apartment.

When the door opened, I shot blindly. I didn’t consider my target could have a roommate. I didn’t think it could be the guy who wouldn’t let me into the building. Visibly upset and far more muscular than I, he was yelling something about me ruining his shirt on the way to seeing his girlfriend and her mom. He asked how old I was in that condescending “what’s wrong with you?” tone. I muttered an apology, but that wasn’t enough. As he pulled out his cell phone, I knew I couldn’t escape. They now had a picture of me. The next day, both their Facebook profiles would have my photo. The team leader, codename Mayor Dinkins, would change his status to “I now know the face of stupid.”

After some Red Mango yogurt, I trudged to the other building, same plan in mind. This time, when I knocked on the apartment door, there was an answer. This time, the roommate wasn’t pissed off. He said he understood, even if I didn’t believe that he wasn’t my target. I asked to see some ID.

My problem, I quickly realized, is these two guys, the two men I had to assassinate, were average looking Caucasians. It may sound racist to say that suddenly I realized all white people look the same, but as I’m white myself I’m allowed to make those kinds of generalizations.

This wasn’t Battleship. I couldn’t just shoot blindly, hoping to hit. This was an intricate chess match. I would need to draw their team leader out, make him identify himself. And as with any chess match, I might need to sacrifice a pawn to get the king.

“There’s no way we’re getting up tomorrow,” my friend Mike from Canada had said. Since he was staying with me for a few days, he was the obvious choice for sacrifice. But social lives are important too, and we had drunk a significant amount of beer on Thursday night. “I’m not gonna wake up, no matter what.” Dagger.

I saw his point, it was almost 3AM, and I had wanted to wake up at 5:30 to ensure my victory. Conceding this fact, and my own drunkenness, I set my alarm for 7AM. And when that buzzer hit, my body was trying to tell me that it wasn’t willing to go killing this morning. But after popping a couple Tylenol, I knew it was time to try waking Mike from Canada. After some resistance, and almost going back to sleep, we were on our way.

The plan was simple. Mike from Canada would sit on the planter directly in front of the apartment building, reading, while an empty watergun would sit beside him. Mike from Canada’s hardest job was choosing which book to bring: he decided to leave the Baudrillard at home and bring the Vonnegut—apparently it’s acceptable to drench The Cat’s Cradle, but not The Illusion of the End. I knew my friend’s loyalties.

Anyone in the game would shoot the unsuspecting lookout, outing himself as my target. Unless of course, they were smart and decided to quickly walk by, knowing that I apparently can’t tell one white guy from another. In fact, I almost thought that had happened, and chased down a sharply dressed guy only to realize it was the roommate again. The one who had been nice. After asking for some ID (again), I sent him on his way as he was talking on his cell phone. Sending a warning.

So as that door opened, I knew this was it. This was my one shot. Water came bursting out toward the planter. Mike from Canada got wet and ran away. I swooped in, running by, and with two guns in hand hit my target. Mayor Dinkins had been vanquished. The feeling. The rush. This must be what real assassins felt like, minus 1000, and without all that messy cleanup.

Taking my trophy, the Mayor's Street Wars ID, I had my action movie one liner ready:

“Now *I* know the face of stupid,” I said. “And it’s all wet.”

---

Extra! Extra! Mayor Dinkins was assassinated this morning!!

At a little after 7, Mayor Dinkins emerged from his Village duplex, groggy, eyes still blood shot from drugs and stinking of imported single malt. Behind him a bed full of satisfied interns, in front a city to run and lives to ruin. Upon emerging, the sun hit his eyes and the smell of urine hit his nose on of his Secret Service agents noticed a suspicious character and dove into action, firing in all directions. When the echoes of the shots faded, the threat had escaped and secret service called the area clear. As security turned to check on one of The Cities finest Mayors, they noticed his custom suit with one single shot through the imported silk where if he had one his heart would have been.

The actual assassin, hidden on the grassy knoll behind a homeless man stood defiantly. There eyes locked bested by the "lobbed snowball in the air, hard thrown snowball in your face" trick that runs rampant on middle school playgrounds throughout the city, the "threat" he was protected from was only a decoy.

With the morning sun on his face and weeping whores at his back, Dinkins knew he would not be up for reelection. Chalk it!

***

The River Rats hooked up Agent Starz with some of that sweet, sweet bubonic plague

Shadow Government, Starz is no longer in this plain of existence. We River Rats infected him with rabies, the plague, and a bad case of crabs. He died wriggling around on the floor of bodega in agonizing pain. He did put up a fight though. I and a fellow assassin initially stake out his home, we were positioning ourselves in a restaurant directly opposite of his front doorway just as he emerged. Before we could get a good shot he sprinted out towards the nearest subway station. My partner in killing pursued on foot but alas, Starz was one fast fucker. This would not be allowed to happen again. We infiltrated his job an for the low cost of five dollars a coworker told us where he was and his exact schedule for the next day-there is just no loyalty in the world. Once again we positioned ourselves at his home, but this time in the Ratmobile. He emerged once again right according to schedule. Not feeling threatened and probably still high on the glory of his escape, he walked into a nearby bodega. I followed and took it upon myself to end him in the form of point blank blast to the chest. - Agent Apollo of The River Rats

***

Mikey FX got a double kill

Sorry for the late report but not all assassins are cold blooded killers and I had a little family business to attend to before I could submit my kills via the worldwide web.

Anyway I killed two agents this morning........

Fox - Killcode: Lcvmhwb_XgdEv6Imp

Cobra Kai - Killcode: qTyu337MTdOYDf7

After a rough start to my career as a contract killer thanks to a faulty water balloon which did not burst on my target (but had the negative effect of revealing my identity to one of my prey) followed by a long and ultimately fruitless six hour stakeout (which was ended by a roving police car, thanks to the locals implying that I may have been loitering in the same place for 6 hours!?!?!) I decided I had to regroup and make sure I did not make the same mistake twice. I was badly prepared on my first assassination attempt and I paid the price. So after a lot of thought, I decided to return to the scene of my first humiliation in disguise and waited patiently to see if my targets had switched up. As Fox came along we saw each other and I was determined not to miss again. So after a little gun fight and swift chase, I eliminated her. All that remained was for me to wait for Cobra Kai to emerge from his domicile and when he eventually emerged (which he did attempted to do through the service entrance about fifteen minutes later) I eliminated him too. Two kills within half an hour made the hours of staking out and humiliating mistake so worth the hassle. They were both absolutely lovely people too!!

Now I await further instruction for my next target.......

The Knub drunk drove all over DWI

Shadow Government,

I am writing to inform that DWI (Killcode:rPbN3iUd5PdtPe8) has been eliminated. It is my first kill in streetwars and I am eager for the taste of new blood.

The story goes as follows:

Astonishment set in when I first viewed the file containing my mark; Dwight is a friend of mine for many years, a business colleague, and the one who introduced me to streetwars. My first reaction was mixed: I was excited about the hunt, but felt the prey was being handed to me on a platter. I decided, for the sake of fairness, to only take advantage of our relationship as a last resort. I would end his life the old fashioned - attack outside his home - so I staked out his street every day after work. Frustration set in as several days went by without spotting the mark. On the 4th night (Thursday), I was in front of his apartment building around 8PM, waiting as usual, when I suddenly heard someone call out my name. Startled, I looked about and found Dwight calling out to me from a second story apartment (I thought he lived on the first). As I approached, the first question was inevitable:

"What are you doing here? Am I your target?"

As he just simply revealed himself, I decided that a kill at this point would be anticlimatic, so I made up a story about meeting someone for drinks down the block and wound up being invited inside. Severel minutes of casual conversation followed, through which I learned that he would be leaving for LA for a long weekend. Imagining the frustration that would have been in store for me had I continued my daily stalking (while he was out of state!), I decided that this must end right then and there. I pulled out my weapon, saw the shock in his eyes, and unleashed my full aquatic fury. After a few minutes of disbelief - "No way! Are you serious? Dude...really...are you serious?!" - he handed over his card, I took him out for a beer, and we got wasted. I think the irony of his situation may have been unsettling at first, but he made a rookie mistake: there are no friends in streetwars.

I'm looking forward to a challenge

Regards,

The Knub