This was a pretty cheap kill, mostly because I knew him. I saw him in his dining hall so I shanked him with my Steak n’ Shake spoon. He saw me coming too but he didn’t think I was the killer at first.

I looked in my email, saw I had my roommate. I approached him, knowing he had lost his bloodlust, and asked him if he would politely die for me. He agreed. Lamest kill ever.

This has got to be the sloppiest kill ever.

I had killed my target, Kerry, last night. I got this guy’s name from her, and I went home and researched him. I found out he lives on stratford ct. For those of you who don’t knwo where that is, which I’m assuming is everybody, its like 2 and a half miles west of memorial stadium. That was definately out of the question. I found out he had an architecture lab at 8:00am on Tu- Thrs that only had one meeting time, and a lecture at 11:00am Tu- Thr that also only met once. How convenient. In case anybody doubts my commitment to this game, let me assure you that I make no class before 8:10, but I was at his class waiting at 7:45am. Sharp. I waited till 8:15, and he hadn’t come, or at least not that I had seen. I came back at 10:50, waiting again. 11:00- 11:01 i see him. My heart skips a beat. Adrenaline is pumping, mind is racing. He walks into the bathroom. I was not thinking clearly, so I decide “i’ll get him while he’s pissing!” I walk in, and park next to him. I’m just posing, so when he finishes, I finish, and start to go in for the kill. (It seemed too dishonorable to kill somebody while their holding their manhood in their hands). He’s washing his hands, and I ask him “is your name Matt?” I wasn’t positive it was my target, so I decided to ask. Unfortunately, it was definately the wrong name. He said “no.” I asked again, with the same response. He dried his hands, and then i stabbed him, and said “are you SURE you’re not matt?” and he was like “no, my name is victor Miely.” Realization immediately hit me, and I explained to him that Matt was 2 targets ago, that i had misplaced them, and that he was dead.

Or so I thought. I failed to remember that you can’t kill while you’re both in a bathroom. He informed me of this, and again, I wanted to slap myself in the face. We both stood there, not sure of what to do, and suddenly, a plan hit me.

“I can wait as long as you can.” I say.

He sighs, looks at me incredulously, and then says “you want to race for it then?” I agree, and we both ready. He bolts, but not before I ditch my backpack. He was encumbered by a rather large looking bag, while I was quick and nimble. I catch up to him no problem, and he turns around wielding his spoon. I look at it, and its a wimpy little girly spoon! It looks like an ice cream sampling spoon. I am holding my giant monster manly spoon, and I know its already over. We circle each other, old school knife fight style, and suddenly, I move in for the kill. He attempts a stab at the same time, I deflect with my left arm, and thrust into his gut with the right. He slumps to the floor, not believing what just happend, and utters two words before passing away. He told me my new target. At least he had dedication.

Like I said, its not pretty, but it got the job done.

She shivers in the wind like the last leaf on a dying tree. I let her hear my footsteps; She only goes stiff for a moment. “Care for a smoke?” I say. “Sure. I’ll take one. Are you as bored by that crowd as I am?” “I didn’t come here for the party, I came here for you. I’ve watched you for days: You’re everything a man could ever want. It’s just not your face, your… figure, or your voice. It’s your eyes, all the things I see in your eyes.” “What is it you see in my eyes?” She said. “I see a crazy calm. You’re sick of running; you’re ready to face what you have to face, but you don’t want to face it alone.” “No, I don’t want to face it alone.”

We kiss.

The wind rises electric. She’s soft and warm and almost weightless. Her perfume is sweet promise that brings tears to my eyes. I tell her that everything will be alright; that I’ll save her from whatever she’s scared of and take her far far away. I tell her… I love her. The silence of the spoon barely makes a whisper. I hold her close until she’s gone. I’ll never know what she’s running from.

I’ll cash her check in the morning.

After unsuccessful attempts to lure my target out of his living quarters, I decided that I’d had enough playing around. I confronted him in neutral territory and made a proposition: him, me, a couple of spoons and the ISR courtyard. Morgan agreed but, not trusting me, guided me to the courtyard with the barrel of his gun. After we arrived, we each discarded our guns (his water, mine Nerf) and all of our spoons but one.

I looked into his eyes, knowing that this went against everything that the word “assassin” stood for; I should have killed him on the way to the duel. But honor is honor, and there was nothing for it now.

“Are you ready?” I asked. “Let’s do this.” We approached each other cautiously, studying every move. After a few initial jabs, I realized I was too slow. We circled, jabbed timidly, circled some more. Suddenly, we both rushed. There was a loud “SNAP!” as two spoons broke on contact. I looked down: there was a spoon sticking out of my gut. I looked at my opponent in shock only to find him staring back at me, a spoon sticking out of his as well.

My last thought as I sank to the ground was, “Well, at least I got him, too.”

Under the guise of a ‘friend’ of mine who only wanted to take a picture of my target (so that the ‘real’ player would know what he looked like), I tracked him for the better part of a week, through IM, Facebook, phone, and email. I eventually got a break when he said over IM that his computer was broken and that he had been frequenting computer labs. Past that it was luck and timing, happening to pass him on my way OUT of the dorm and still pretending to be a friendly photographer. When a huge group of people passed between us, I dug for the spoon and ended it, for some reason saying “It’s you” instead of “It’s me” as I did so. Killing makes a man’s mind funny.

The winds of fate blow ice cold over the windshield of my convertible. Sitting next to me is a good friend of mine whom, unbeknownst to him, just so happens to have his name written down on a particularly ill- fated piece of paper in my pocket. The protective shell of friendship connot wihtstand the tip of a spoon backed by a potential $15. I force small- talk, knowing that this broken passenger seat will be his deathbed, this roadside his tomb.

I met with my target around 7 to go out to World Market. He was initially suspicious – this game tends to bring that out in people. After an hour spent gaining his trust, we cracked open some gourmet orange pops for the ride home – they were delicious by the way, almost as sweet as a fresh spoon wound.

As he buckles himself in I slowly ready my weapon; I slide it out of my pocket and into striking position. In one last display of respect to the soon- to- be- fallen, I proposed a toast, a toast to assassination. It was over instantly – he didn’t suffer, I made sure of that – - the least I could do for an old friend.

As his lifeless body slumped over onto my dash I knew I had to keep it clean. I drove north on Prospect past the theater… – No- man’s land – anything goes out here. I ditched the body in a man- made lake outside a housing development. The shallow water won’t contain him for long, but it should adequately conceal the spoonmarks. My bloodlust sated, I finished his orange pop, and lost myself in the streets of Champaign in a vain attempt to rid myself of this most nefarious, yet primally satisfying, act of betrayal

I was surprised when I first received my target assignment, but pleased. We had known each other years ago and fell out of touch. After carefully researching him, I decided on a whim to eat lunch where he lived, and hope that he was there. I walked nonchalantly into the dining hall, and didn’t see him. Until I got into one of the lines for the main course – he was standing directly in front of me. I casually added a spoon to my tray – removing either of the ones in my pockets would have been far too suspicious. I stalked him around, unnoticed, as he gathered up elements of his meal, calmly waiting for my moment to strike. The moment came when he reached for an empty glass. I stepped up to him and pressed the weapon into his skin. He looked down, confused, and then up into my face, doubly confused. Then, comprehension dawned on his face. “I’m dead, aren’t I?” “Yes.” Then we had lunch.

He was watching Gilmore Girls in his dorm room, and I and someone else were invited in to watch with him. That was when I got him in the chest with my spoon. Kurt is dead.