| Player Info | |
|---|---|
| Alias: | 'Tyler' |
| Status: | Dead |
| Points: | 1 |
| Last point on: | 2005 October 11—12:00 PM |
'Gecko' killed 'Tyler'
I needed to go shopping…and I didn’t have a means of transportation. You can always count on your friends, right? After arranging for a shopping trip, it dawned on me that perhaps my friend wasn’t exactly trustworthy. I armed myself to the teeth – a spoon in each pocket of my jeans and hoodie. I held a fourth carefully in my hand, concealing it from view. I got in the car and there was no attempt, and laughter soon took place of paranoia.
Never let your guard down.
An hour later (this man’s patience is incredible), we’re back in the car, still laughing and joking. I’ve forgotten all about the threat – my greatest mistake. We toast – I say, “To friends!” while he says, “To assassination!” I didn’t even have a moment to react, and before I knew it, I was looking down on my own corpse. Blood was everywhere. I watched him calmly sip his drink – a stone cold killer – and then drive away. I know it’s just a job – but his lack of emotion was appalling. Now I roam the streets of Champaign, unable to ascend to heaven, a life finished before its time, unfulfilled.
Tell my wife and kids that I love them. I didn’t mean for it to end this way.
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'Tyler' killed 'GiantPlaidWoodenTeepee'
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.
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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