StreetWars participants. (AP Photo/Jim Cooper)
StreetWars organizers prepare instructions sheets. (AP Photo/Jim Cooper)
StreetWars participants. (AP Photo/Jim Cooper)
StreetWars players get their informational packets on West 13th street in New York on July 29, 2005. (AP Photo/Jim Cooper)
Nona Varnado and teammate Wendi Cheng, right, of Team Without Pant prepare to hunt for their target during a game of StreetWars in Brooklyn on Aug. 9, 2005. (AP Photo/Jim Cooper)
Wendi Cheng of Team Without Pants hunts for her next target during a StreetWars game in the Williamsburg section of Brooklyn on Aug. 9, 2005. (AP Photo/Jim Cooper)
StreetWars players get their informational packets on West 13th street in New York on July 29, 2005. (AP Photo/Jim Cooper)
Adam Staudt of Team Without Pants hunts for his next target during a game StreetWars in the Williamsburg section of Brooklyn on Aug. 9, 2005. (AP Photo/Jim Cooper)

On a balmy afternoon in July, a seemingly innocuous IM from a friend appeared on my screen with a link to the Web site of "StreetWars: Killer," a three-week water gun assassination tournament that takes place in both New York and Vancouver. She thought we might play this game of cunning and deception together.

I didn't know at the time, but that simple IM would incite a weeks-long cat-and-mouse game between myself -- a wild-mannered reporter -- and The Jackal, an "assassin" shrouded in mystery. But this game would be completely separate from the "StreetWars" game. And it would sorta freak me out.

In "StreetWars," players are given their target's home and work addresses. Someone entirely different has theirs. It's shoot or be shot -- with a watergun. Buses, subways and players' workplaces are the only safe zones.

At first glance, "StreetWars" sounded fun. Then again, I'm the type of person who enjoys riding roller coasters and dressing up for Halloween even though I'm technically an adult. My initial reaction was to sign up, play the game and write about the experience for asap.

My editor nixed the idea of a first-person story. He wanted something more comprehensive, less comical. He wanted to know what kind of people would willingly play an urban-set game -- mere weeks after the London bombings -- with the threat of identify theft, James Bondian delusions and non-lethal public violence with brightly colored weaponry. He didn't accept the answer "adults who still enjoy riding roller coasters and dressing up for Halloween."

"It is not funny in this day and age," Mayor Michael Bloomberg said about "StreetWars" during a press conference before the game began. "It may be funny for kids playing in the schoolyard. It's not something that is appropriate on the streets of this city, given the world we live in."

I e-mailed the game's master, identified as the Supreme Commander of the Shadow Government on the Web site. I quickly received a phone call from a 30-year-old equities lawyer named Franz Aliquo, the true general behind StreetWars. You can read the complete interrogation transcript with the Supreme Commander here.

Aliquo forwarded me the e-mail addresses of two potential sources: a hunteress and her prey. She didn't want to participate in this article. But her prey, The Jackal, did. By the time I contacted "Nocturne...The Jackal" -- his full fake moniker -- he had already been ousted from the game, unceremoniously shot down in the hallway outside his apartment.

However, the Supreme Commander believed in The Jackal and gave him a second life as a rogue assassin (stay with me here) who would carry out the Supreme Commander's orders against unruly players, wetting those who had dished out faulty intel to the Shadow Government.

My e-mails from The Jackal were filled with both deceptive language ("I am wanted in 37 countries and have many enemies for my role in thousands of successful assassination operations") and veiled threats ("Maybe I'll be following you home from work today"). But The Jackal would never call me himself -- only through a second party who always identified himself as Agent Copperhead.

One of The Jackal's e-mails included some personal information about me, leading me to believe he really did follow me home one day. That notion left me feeling slightly creeped out. Had I inadvertently become part of "StreetWars"? Like the players, I was now living in fear. Well, more in fear. I already live in fear because I live in New York.

Unlike the "StreetWars" players, who don't know anything about their intended assassins, I had one piece of vital information on my stalker: his e-mail address.

I used my journalistic resources to determine his full name and address. From there, I could take a look at his public records. I even found his Friendster profile. His interests include traveling, comic books, primitive art and "anything to do with ninjas or science fiction." I had what my editor wanted: a portrait of this assassin. Of course, I wanted more.

Armed with my reporter's notebook and business cards, I trekked to The Jackal's "layer" (as he once referred to it in an Internet posting) in Manhattan. He wasn't home. So I left him a note on one of my business cards. "Call me if you want to talk," it read. This assassin stuff was going to my head.

After a series of back-and-forth e-mails, a meeting with The Jackal had tentatively been planned. He gave me a time and two neighborhoods where we might meet. Nothing more. Is this the way Sydney Bristow plans her social calendar?

I checked my e-mail throughout the day in hopes of firmer plans. Nothing. I checked my voicemail. Nothing. I checked my e-mail later that night. Nothing. An hour before our supposed meeting, I hadn't heard from The Jackal or Agent Copperhead about a location. I assumed The Jackal had forgotten about me and disappeared into the night.

It wasn't until I listened to my voicemail the next morning that I felt the wrath of The Jackal. His persistent communiqués -- one which prompted me to meet him near a subway station -- were laden with spy language and an odd French pronunciation of "Jackal."

Since then, The Jackal and Agent Copperhead have disappeared from my inbox. This round of "StreetWars" has ended. Some team named The Crazy 88's was crowned the winners after the Supreme Commander was "assassinated."

To this day, I've never met or spoken with The Jackal. Like terrorists, identity thieves and other things that go bump in the night, I know The Jackal is out there. He might be watching me, and there's nothing I can do about it.

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Derrik J. Lang is an asap writer in New York.

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