Confessions of a Mediocre Assassin
By Erin Larkspur

At 5:05pm, I stood outside the gate to Quincy Courtyard. I had to get to the F-entry practice room. I had thought of asking for changes of venue for several commitments in Quincy, but I had forgotten for this one. I cocked my weapon and started running. Two shooters dashed up from the side and blocked my way. I froze. "What's your name?" one yelled, standing in the sunken area. "Whose team are you on?" I thought about it and felt obligated to answer, "My name is Erin; I'm on the Trouble Shooters." "Trouble Shooters, eh?" he repeated, and raised his weapon. We both fired. Darts flew freely past each of us. I cursed myself for not getting out my spare dart before entering the courtyard, screamed, turned, and ran. The second shooter caught me. I started stomping back in my original direction. "Where's my dart?" asked the first shooter. His teammate answered him; I countered with, "Where's *my* dart, and what's *your* name?" He pointed me to it and introduced himself as [CLASSIFIED]. As I walked towards Old, one of them called after me, "Sorry we had to kill you!" I said over my shoulder, "I'm just mad I didn't run faster."
And I am: *I* am, after all, the member of the track team here. However, I am also mad for reasons ranging from my choice of target in the stand-off to the absence of a safe-when-nude provision in the rules for this year's Assassin game.
As per usual in Assassin games, I would like my epitaph to read: "Enthusiastic, but unskilled." Erin Larkspur