Memoirs of an Assassin: Foreword and Ch. 1 My First Assignment

Memoirs of an Assassin

Forward, Foreword

BGSU has a few shining idiosyncrasies that make the school worth attending, and more than a few of them come from Kreischer Compton Darrow’s RA staff. This particular conduit of enjoyment was found in a game, that, when kept in its simplest form, deals with subterfuge and sneakery. Inspiration for this game came from the online series of videos titled “Dorm Life”, and the principle is simple: You are given a target to assassinate, and you are someone else’s target. Your ultimate objective is to stand up out of the cloudy mists of war espoused disaster, look around at all the death, it’s origin being you, and say, “There is none left to contest!” In that respect “Assassins”, as we refer to it, resembles a Shakespearean play.
“Assassins” and Shakespearean plays foster the growth dramatic events, heart pounding intensity, and adrenaline surging scenarios of hide and seek on a grander scale. Out of such experiences I have gleaned memories, and it is for the sake of memory, and the dispersal of those memories, that I have constructed a memoir accounting for all the details of the teeth grinding trickery. Playing “Assassins” in the future may well become more difficult, because I will reveal tactics and strategies that I have employed. However, I look forward to the challenge, and wish for all of you to delight in the buffoon written stories that I hope will bring closure to the events surrounding my role in this round of the game.

Below are the complete set of rules as they were given to us with my explanations included in parentheses

1. You can only assassinate the name you currently possess
1. You obtain new names through assassinating the person whose name you possess
2. Never give out the name you possess.
2. In order to assassinate someone, you must mark their skin with your marker
1. No throwing the marker or anything similar
2. You must use the same marker throughout the entire game
3. If you are caught in an assassination attempt by the person you are assassinating, then the assassin has 3 seconds to finish the kill or they must wait an hour before attempting another assassination.
i. Defense is played by yelling assassin or marker when you are about to be assassinated.
ii. No chasing someone in order to assassinate them…
1. Safe Zones
1. The Desk and Backroom are dubbed the assassin area of amnesty.
2. The meeting of assassins that occurs every Wednesday is a no kill zone.
3. Assassins on Duty guard are off limits. (This rule only applies to duty walks. RA’s walk the building to make sure everyone is safe and well, and it did not sit well with our hall directors to allow a game to conflict with such a responsibility. However, as long as the RA was not performing such a responsibility they were fair game.)
4. Any assassin doing business for another guild or organization is off limits.
5. If an assassin is in classroom training, they are off limits.
2. When you are assassinated, you must post your death on the KCD facebook page under the assassinated people post (This rule was quickly amended, and the new rule told people to call the facilitator of the game so that he could post ominously that “someone” was killed. Further on in the game he stopped posting.)
1. You must not post who assassinated you.
3. The Game will begin on Sunday at Midnight. (technically Monday morning)
1. Good Luck assassins

THE END OF THE RULES

Ch. 1

My First Assignment

Because my schedule is generally filled to the brim with anxiety I was tentative to join the game, even though it interested me. Yet, time and imagination coaxed me into throwing my hat into the ring. Thought gave way to creativity, and creativity gave way to the millions of ways this game would be fun. Entering my name, I chose my color: purple, and Facebook had provided me with the means for committing to this round of “Assassins”.
Still blissfully ignorant of how serious the game would become, I was disappointed that it did not start Friday night/Saturday morning. Preparations concerning the rules and organization of the assassins needed to be made, causing a later start, and like a child I felt like the time would never come. Monday morning at 12 am was the agreed upon starting time, which couldn’t come soon enough. This delay of a few days caused “Assassins” to float from my immediate sphere of interest onto the backburner.
Sunday night had finally come, but my attentions lied with other more serious preoccupations. Untellable time was poured into an art project that was due the next day (no worries I got my REM sleep). At that time “Assassins” had completely slipped my mind, something that wouldn’t happen again for a long while, and staring at me from the ground, underneath my door was a small note with my name on it. Dense as I was I didn’t notice it for quite some time, but when I did notice it I was perplexed. Here I opened this note expecting something intimate, like a confession, but instead a goofy picture of one of my co-RA’s faces was staring back at me. Interestingly enough I still didn’t put two and two together, and I figured this note for a misunderstood joke. Why would someone give me a picture of Clayton?

Person: Stephen, this is what your co-RA looks like.

Stephen: Thanks :)

Somewhere in the depths of that late night homework session reason came riding on a horse, and leant me its understanding, as I finally realized what the crap that piece of paper meant. From that point on I started carrying a marker, and had my eyes open for Clayton. Many times that night I paced by his door checking underneath to see if the light was on or when he’d be back. It was important for me to rely on surprise, but I wasn’t too worried about getting Clayton, he did live down the hall after all.
Earlier I had grabbed a purple marker from a set of crayola markers, but soon I replaced it with a purple marker from the front desk. Black was the main neutral color on this new marker, which made it way cooler than the other one I had been using before. To understand this logic you have to understand why the black versions of superheroes are so much cooler than their regular manifestations: Venom, Black Wargreymon, the black power ranger, Non-Adam West Batman, black belts, Darth Vader, and the Civil Rights Movement, they’re all just cooler than the original.
Time flew by quickly that morning and I needed to get my project over to the art building, while it was not raining. What I had created for an end product was a comic painted with watercolor and mounted on a large board requiring two hands to adequately support it. Grabbing my jacket I embarked for the art building with both hands on my project, a marker in my coat pocket, and a thankful smile for the lack of rain.
Half of the main sidewalk that runs in between the art building and Kreischer had been under construction for about year, but the fence that blocked it had come down recently allowing for 2X THE WALKING ROOM! Halfway into my journey across the treacherous wetlands I spotted Clayton, and we reacted to one another as awkward college boys do, making faces and strange movements. Yet, my bi-pedal movement remained unimpeded, because I did not wish to be late to this important critique. Some faces were made and then Clayton said, “nice board”, and then he quickly passed by. Before this moment of passing I let go of my board with one hand and fumbled for my marker, as we passed one another. Anguish filled my soul, for my quarry had escaped my clutches.
After my class I decided some sleep was needed, so I planned to go to my room to catch an hour or so before lifegroup that night. My room was a mess, and I left some of the watercolors’ water out on my card table that I use as a work area for projects. Merky water was something I wanted away from all the things that could be ruined by it. Somewhat cheerfully and somewhat in a daze from lack of sleep, I walked to the sink in the laundry room. On my way there I became aware of Clayton behind me, and my eyes shot. Clayton wished to talk to me about official RA business, but my logic hadn’t thought it through that the game wouldn’t work if we were each others’ targets. Instead I assumed that him as a very real immediate threat, as he walked aggressively towards me in shorts and a t-shirt after having worked out. Clayton was closing in on me too quickly, and that spooked me. I threw the watercolor water quickly into the sink, and my reflexes bid me jump aside so that I was facing Clayton, who was now right in front of the sink. Tense worried muscles caused the water to be thrown into the sink much harder than would make sense to throw water, and this directly resulted in the water coming back out of the sink and landing in Clayton’s eyes.
Clayton wiping the water from his eyes in typical dramatic sitcom fashion left me plenty of time to grab the marker from my pocket and strike him on his beefy upper arm. Once he had cleared his eyes he used them to quizzically examine the fatal blow that had been dealt him. Not fully understanding I explained with a grin, “Hah, I got you…for assassins…I killed you.” His answer was somewhat disappointing, “Oh, did that start?….wait…does this mean I’m dead?” An intense frown of sadness grabbed Clayton’s face, and then he continued on to call me an asshole. He threw a short fit, which I ignored and sort of understood. After all I had barely remembered that we were supposed to start.
Clayton and I talked briefly and I shared how I knew that I was meant to kill him. After a few words he understood the white piece of paper bearing his name on the outside, and the image of my other co-RA on the inside was really an official “Assassins” game super secret assignment. Energy flowed through my body from the happening, so I forewent the nap that was scheduled for 4 pm to 5ish to start cracking on work. My priorities kept my mind on work, but at least some thought flowed to Cierra, “When do I see that girl anyway?”

Ch. 2

Acquiring a Taste for Blood

(Continued at a later time)