| Player Info | |
|---|---|
| Alias: | '3.14159265358979323, or thereabouts' |
| Status: | Dead |
| Points: | 2 |
| Last point on: | 2005 November 10—11:55 PM |
'3.14159265358979323, or thereabouts' tried to kill 'William Thomson', but failed!
My assassin attempted to kill me and claimed he did but he hit me in the upper arm. I walked away and he didn\’t strike again.
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'Eek!stravaganza' killed '3.14159265358979323, or thereabouts'
I was lurking around my target’s room when I saw him leave to go to the bathroom. I had never seen him before and needed confirmation. I waited for him to go back to his room and when he was stopped, I said Bob, and proceeded to stab him in the side, delivering the crushing blow.
On my way into my room, I heard my name and felt a poke in the back. The feel of a cold metal spoon as it terminated my time in this game. Though you may have stopped my murderous spree, you cannot stop pi. It will go on.
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'3.14159265358979323, or thereabouts' killed 'Game Over Man'
3.14159265358979323… such a long number, such simple deaths. My target was there, he lives no more.
pi may be greater than e, but Mr. 2.71828183 was greater than 3.14159265358979323, or thereabouts, will ever be. Mark my words, pi- man: you may have transcended our lowly roots, but sooner or later you’ll come full circle. When your assassin gets ‘round to it, your death will be very real.
For me, though, it’s game over, man.
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'3.14159265358979323, or thereabouts' killed 'William Thomson'
Death cannot be escaped, merely evaded. To think that one can escape is purely irrational. My target had evaded me many a time. This was not, however, one of those times.
So this time he got it right. A quick jab in the right lumbar; a smirk on his face. His spoon quickly brought me to −459.67°F, never to have enthalpy again.
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Finally, irrationality has proven a valid course. Running into my target while eating dinner was the work of fate itself. Actually, fate had worked this way three times before, but my target was elusive (and I was busy). As he left dinner this time I was prepared and he felt the icy hand of death (with it\’s accompanying plastic spoon, of course) grip his shoulder. Fear ye mortals and despair, for irrational numbers feel no remorse.