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Starting Occupation: NT Technician
Group Membership: Yagoton Revivification Clinic
Goals: Research the disease, aid the survivors, and cure who I can.
Username: X1M43
More details: Urban Dead profile

Syringe Notebook.jpg
You find a small black notebook. A gray logo is embossed on the cover; it looks like a syringe containing an oversized strand of DNA. There are some rust-colored smudges, but the notebook is generally clean.



September 3, 2005

So, I'm keeping a journal now. This is a new thing for me—I've never kept a journal in my life. But I've got to talk to someone or at least write this all down or I'm gonna go crackers.

I started here at NecroTech back in June. Worked in government research before, but that was boring as hell. I went corporate because I figured it'd be more exciting. Actually, it was, for a while. I've been so wrapped up in work I haven't been outside in weeks. I haven't even been above ground—my department is actually two levels below the street.

Today, they brought in three people in body bags. But they were moving. Dr. O'Bannon, the head researcher for the Anatomy Division, told us they were dead. He swore it up and down—made every one of us feel their pulses—carotid, radial, femoral. Nothing. We took their temperatures rectally. 23 degrees Celsius for all specimens. He insisted we perform metabolic tests. These guys were dead, but I swear you couldn't tell by looking at them.

Their hands were cuffed and their mouths and eyes were duct-taped shut. O'Bannon told us to autopsy one of them. As long as I live, I will never forget peeling back the skin of that old man, cracking his sternum open while he thrashed on the examination table. His heart wasn't beating and his lungs were still. No peristalsis; very little bleeding. His blood was mostly coagulated. We took a full series of fluid samples, concentrating on blood, lymph, and CSF. We confirmed a dozen different ways that he was dead. But Christ...he was moving.

September 8, 2005

More bodies, still moving. More autopsies. Some of them were actually dead—really dead, as in not moving. Those had head wounds. The ones that moved, their faces were usually covered with duct tape—O'Bannon told us they would try to bite, and their bites were infectious. But sometimes we saw the faces. They were...yearning for something. Those cloudy eyes will haunt me forever. Where are these things coming from?

They're not letting us outside at all. We sleep in bunkers, for Christ's sake. There are no windows—at least, not where we techs are allowed. Makes me glad I never married. I can't imagine how the poor wedded bastards must feel—not being able to see their families for so long.

September 16, 2005

A researcher named Snyder was bitten by one of them. Somehow, the duct tape had come loose from the body's mouth. O'Bannon made a call, a security team came in, and dragged Snyder away before he could wash the bite out with disinfectant. They said they took him to quarantine. O'Bannon told me that not every bite carries infection, but he wanted to take every precaution. I hope Snyder turns out alright.

September 18, 2005

Snyder was pronounced dead. Then he got up again. He's in the Anatomy lab right now.

God damn.

September 24, 2005

I got sick of cutting open moving bodies. I asked for a transfer; they sent me to Pathogenics Division. Could be worse, I suppose. They could have denied the transfer. We're very busy at the moment, trying to figure out what makes those things tick. The department's head researcher, someone named Boyle, thinks it's a virus. He thinks we're on the verge of a treatment of some kind.

There are rumors that this virus actually came out of another NecroTech lab somewhere in the city. Crazy talk, at least I hope.

September 28, 2005

We learned today that the pathogen is an unusual subtype of retrovirus—and when I say unusual, I mean totally new to science. This thing doesn't just transfect cells, it somehow gets its RNA into the mitochondria as well, mutating them into an anaerobic form. When an infected person dies, the mutant mitochondria keep the body alive. And then the body attacks people.


October 3, 2005

We had a breakthrough today. My colleague Dr. Fulci was able to synthesize a serum which restores the creatures to full life—metabolism, memory, everything. Like they hadn't died at all. Boyle is ecstatic. He demonstrated it personally. We keep a few specimens here (Christ, I'm calling them specimens) for blood work and the like, but I haven't had to cut one open in a while. He jabbed a fat syringe into the guy's neck. The serum was thick and translucent green; it kind of looked fake. It's called Agent 51 according to Fulci.

The guy immediately went dead. I mean, he stopped moving. We stood there for half an hour, while Fulci explained how the stuff worked. Apparently, it transforms the mutated mitochondria to their normal state and restores electrochemical activity in the brain. At least, that's as much as I understood. Anyway, in half an hour, the guy sat up. He asked, in plain English, where the hell he was—and where his wife was. Then a pair of guards took him away. I have no idea what happened to him after that, and I'm afraid to speculate.

October 14, 2005

They're keeping us locked in indefinitely now. There are reports of riots outside. The Directors say we're safer in here. What the hell is going on out there?

October 26, 2005

The Directors told us everything. They called a meeting in the cafeteria… and explained that we're all going to die. Not in so many words, of course. But the general premise is that we're utterly fucked. The power grid is down outside, and fuel is low for the backup generators we're using. When those go out, the electronic doors will unlock, and we'll have to fend for ourselves. They said the rioters we've been hearing about the specimens in the labs. They're dead. Reanimated, somehow, and attacking anyone with a pulse. Fortunately, they're stupid and slow—like in the old movies. Unfortunately there are loads of them, and the more organized and powerful ones seem to employ group tactics.

Some people are getting out via helicopter. Mostly head researchers and corporate suits. Fulci's going too. He's actually an okay guy; I'm glad he'll get out of this alive, at least. The rest of us are boned. The city's quarantined; no one gets in, no one gets out, unless they're Army or on NecroTech's short list.

Before he left, Fulci asked me a favor—as a scientist, he said, not a NecroTech employee. He handed me a field-issue DNA extractor unit and told me to tag as many of the things as I could. The data would be sent to him via satellite in a NecroTech lab outside the city. He said the data might help him find a way to contain the outbreak. He also told me that other NecroTech facilities have been producing small amounts of his serum.

What the hell. What else am I going to do?


November 1, 2005

I've been hiding out for a few days now. The streets are crawling. I'm sticking to warehouses and factories—low profile buildings. It's safer that way. I've tagged a few Zeds—that's what people are calling them, you can guess what it stands for. One took a swipe at me, gouged my arm pretty good. Luckily, it didn't get infected.

There's a dead guy in here with me. There's not much left of his head; I don't think he's getting up. He might have been a cop. It's hard to tell. He didn't have any weapons, but I took his boots and his radio. I've been getting some broadcasts by a Police Department in Dunell Hills and some weird shit from something called "Radio Free Malton." I haven't been able to contact either of them, though. I may need new batteries. Getting them is a pretty low priority right now. There was a crowbar in there too; seems pretty useful, with all these barricades around.

Got a brief radio message mentioning a "Revivification Clinic" in Yagoton. From what I could tell, they're a bunch of scientists and doctors who've made it their goal to "cure" as many Zeds as possible. I guess they must know about the serum too. Well, it sounds like a noble cause. I think I'll join the party.

November 7, 2005

I found a mess of serum at one of the nearby NecroTech buildings. Then some prick walked in and told us to drop them by order of "IZONE". I've heard about them...some kind of Zed cult. I took off for the hospital, tagging and curing two or three Zeds on my way. I'm lucky it wasn't barricaded too heavily. I got in and found myself a bunch of first-aid kits, which I'd been meaning to do anyway. I think I'll search some more, then head by the clinic. Then it's off to the next NT building for more serum. Who would have thought—civilization comes to a halt, and I'm still utterly dependent on my employers...

While I was napping, someone put a few more boards on the door. I can get out through a window, I think, but I'm not getting back in for a while. I'm going to have to leave soon. I hope I can find some shelter elsewhere.

November 9, 2005

I died yesterday.

I went over to the clinic. It was packed. I revived and healed as many people as I the time I was finished, I was exhausted. I went looking for shelter, but everything—even the NT building just north of the clinic—was barricaded so heavily I couldn't get in. I must have passed out from exhaustion on the street. Next thing I knew, a Zed was chewing on my neck. He must have gnawed through my carotid or something; I was too weak to fight him off.

Everything after that is really hazy. I remember...standing up too fast. My brain was foggy, like I'd had way too much to drink. And I was hungry...I blacked out again, then somehow scrabbled my way back to the clinic. I could remember that much. I think, at some point, I took some gun shots, and I remember's all so vague.

I made it to the clinic, and some kind soul revived me. Some surgeons operated on me while I was unconscious; the injury to my neck is just an ugly scar now. My skin felt numb for a few hours after I woke up; given the lack of morphine and anesthetics in the city these days, I think it's an effect of the serum.

I found shelter in a warehouse north of the clinic. Someone called "Son of Uborkapete" patched me up pretty good, removed some bullets from my chest. A bit of shrapnel from a flare, too.

Had some adventures when a few undead broke into the building. I had to leave...I wasn't keen on being lunched again.

November 14, 2005

Supplies are getting harder to find, especially serum. I found a hell of a lot of serum over the past day...ended up using all of it. Some of the Zeds at the clinic were too badly decomposed...a waste of good serum. Back at the hospital now, stocking up on medical supplies. Crowded as hell in here. Few days and I'll trek back to one of the NecroTech buildings, start the cycle anew.

One of those things bit me. I got killer gangrene—rotting bodies are loaded with nasty bacteria. Luckily, the antibiotics in a standard first-aid kit clear it right up.

November 18, 2005

Today has been a good day. I spent the last four days searching for supplies. I headed off for the clinic, intending to do some good. I took one step outside my shelter and saw about ten Zeds surrounding the place—and one badly injured bastard in the middle of it. I hit all but two of those things with my syringes...couldn't do anything about the others. Then I used all of my medical supplies keeping that poor bloke alive. By the time I was done, I didn't have anything left to take to the clinic. I had to hole up somewhere else in the meantime...but saving a life seemed a worthwhile cause.

November 22, 2005

I was finally able to do some good at the clinic. It's been a rough few days. A horde of the things marched straight through Yagoton, almost shutting down the clinic. Almost. Christ, those surgeons are persistent. You could cut off their legs and they'd drag themselves back and forth between the clinic and the NecroTech labs. I have to admire that.

Someone worked out a safe way to hook up portable generators to a building's power grid. Catherine General Hospital has power now, at least for a while. With proper lights and equipment, I can perform minor surgery there. Someone hooked up a generator at the Serrell Building too, but it reset the automatic locks on the laboratories. We're locked out. Fortunately, there are still plenty of syringes full of serum in the equipment-storage rooms.


December 1, 2005

The clinic's been dead for a week. Bad choice of words—I mean, after that horde left for Caiger Mall, there have been hardly any undead in the neighborhood. Which is a good thing, I suppose—syringes are getting harder and harder to find. Someone broke into the NecroTech building's medical library; I've been passing time reading medical texts. Very dry stuff.

The clinic has teamed up with a group calling themselves The Abandoned. They've developed a defense plan for keeping Yagoton more or less secure. We'll see if the others can stick to it.

December 7, 2005

"A date that will live in infamy." Well, in 1941 anyway. But we have our own problems to worry about here at the clinic. Some zed sympathizers keep barricading the clinic and spraying over our advertisements. A fellow from The Abandoned said they had a suspect, so if all goes well, that will be taken care of soon.

Got another interesting transmission on my handset radio. There's apparently big trouble in Ridleybank. That's south a ways, but I think I can make it in a day or so. They're asking for help. Right now, I don't have a gun, or anything other than this crowbar, but I know my way around a surgical bay and I'm handy with a Necrotech syringe. I'm considering going down there to help out. But I need time to stock up on supplies. I heard a brief snippet that suggested they might be pulling out. If I leave, could I even get there in time to do any good? I'll just have to leave the radio on while I search...but the batteries are getting low as it is. I checked a city map, and there is a mall between here and Ridleybank, and I'm planning to swing by for some first-aid kits. Maybe I can find some batteries too.

December 15, 2005

Ridleybank is dead. Maybe there are still survivors there, but I'd probably die trying to reach them.

I'm going stir crazy. For months, it's been back and forth between the Whatmore lab, the clinic and the hospital. I felt like I was going to snap, so I took a hiatus. I went up to Bale Mall for a bit. There were rumors that the mall had been overrun by an Amish homicide cult. How insane is that? And what the hell would the Amish be doing in a mall? In England? Anyway, I didn't see anyone like that.

I found a hell of a lot of first-aid kits in this drugstore in the mall. True, I can't perform surgery in a mall, but in terms of portable first-aid equipment, that drugstore beats the hell out of Catherine General Hospital. Kind of strange.

After I got enough kits, I went south to the NecroTech lab in The Serrell Building. I stocked up on syringes. Not necessarily for the clinic. I think I might head into Central Malton to see if I can help out. Ridleybank is a lost cause, but the other suburbs in the area might be saved.

Anyway, one or more of the creatures broke into the lab last night. Long story short, I woke up at the clinic. My hands were stained with blood, and I don't think it was mine. I hope whatever poor bastard I attacked got away safely...

December 31, 2005

I had myself a bit of an adventure.

I went down to Ridleybank, against my better judgement. I found a few groups of survivors and administered what aid I could. I hit the walking dead with my syringes. Within two days I was completely out of supplies. I hid in a fire station with some other breathing humans. The barricades fell overnight.

The next week was a haze. I think it says something about the plague that every time I've been...afflicted...I found my way back to the clinic. Some part of the mind remains intact even while the body is metabolically inactive. We knew that already—the revivification syringes wouldn't work otherwise—but now we know that the mind remains active as well.

I really owe the doctors at the clinic. No more exploring, at least for a little while. I'm going to devote more of my efforts to curing the disease.



January 5, 2006

Ominous reports coming over the radio. A big horde of the walking dead is heading for Bale Mall to the north. This time, I think I can help. I found a fire axe and I'm pretty decent with it. That, and I have enough revivification syringes to resurrect a rhinoceros. I'm running low on first-aid equipment, but there's a ready supply of that at the mall. I just need to make a few more preparations down by the clinic and I can head out.

Kind of a shame, actually. I was saving all of those syringes for the clinic.

The walkers at the clinic seem to be getting restless. I've seen lots of people coming back into the Whatmore Building with festering wounds. I've used up all but one of my first-aid kits. I damn well better find more when I get to Bale.

That is, if it's still safe for a man to tread...

January 13, 2006

Haven't written in a while. Haven't been in a condition to write.

The Whatmore Building's barricades fell a few days ago. I think they're still down, but I can't be sure. Woke up days later lying in the street outside a NecroTech building a suburb away. It's the longest I've that. I hope there's no permanent damage.

I made my slow way back, harboring an infection. Got that cleared up thanks to some good Samaritans. Yagoton was in disarray, but I helped where I could. There were some undead in the NecroTech building next to the Harkness Street Revive Point, but I revived them, dragged out the bodies, and barricaded the ever-living crap out of that structure.

I'm sitting in Bale Mall now, planning my next move. I think I'm going to stock up on medical equipment, then try to get back to the Whatmore Building. If it's overrun...I'll just have to change that.

January 22, 2006

Things have been pretty hectic recently. Yagoton has gotten to be a damn dangerous place to live--more than it was already. And it's only going to get worse. I'm trapped in Bale Mall. There are zobs everywhere and they're breaking down the barricades as fast as we can build them. I have medical training and I'm good with an axe, so I'm helping out as much as I can. It's exhausting work, though.

There is some good news. I found a high-level NecroTech ID on a body. I can use the synthesis machines now and churn out my own syringes. I can also access the NecroNet and check on undead concentrations nearby. It only shows scanned specimens, but that's better than nothing.

If Bale Mall falls, I'm heading over to Caiger. Might be safer there.

January 26, 2006

Bale Mall fell last night while I was asleep. I woke up on the street, feeling the now-familiar buzz of revivification. I hiked over to Caiger Mall; I've heard the horde is following. Caiger is pretty important to all of us. In November and December they beat back the toughest, longest siege since the outbreak began. It's kind of a symbol of hope for survivors. It's also an attractive target, according to those who think the undead retain some cognitive ability.

Scouts are reporting hordes of unprecedented size drawing near. Meanwhile, survivors from all over Malton are pouring in to help out however they can. I'd better stock up on first-aid kits and syringes while I can. If Bale Mall taught me anything, it's that there won't be any time for searching when the siege begins...


February 11, 2006

Everything within ten blocks of Caiger is a war zone. The mall itself seems to be doing alright. There must be over two thousand survivors inside. What that says about the number of shamblers outside, I don't want to think about.

Tensions are rising. Someone said that he wouldn't "waste" his first-aid kits on anyone who was foolish enough to go outside and get nibbled. That pissed a few people off. Granted, I understand the sentiment. Our best hope is to keep the barricades up and the zobs outside. Taking pot-shots at the horde is a waste of time and ammunition. But still...damn, that's cold. I said I'd treat everyone equally. Well, unless they wreck the generator.

We've had a lot of problems with that. There are a lot of people in this city who, for whatever reason, want the living to join the dead. Probably a bunch of religious whackjobs. I have no sympathy for them. I don't care what delusions they harbor—when their stupid religion starts hurting innocent people's chances of survival, I'll give them exactly what they want—death.

February 18, 2006

I killed a man today. A survivor who destroyed a generator. This is the first time I've ever turned my weapons against a living human.

The siege continues. Spirits are high, though. I've been spending most of my time in the northwest corner of the mall. It's the least crowded, so I figure they could use another hand over there keeping the barricades up. I believe most of the people there are insane. They raided all the toy stores for...Silly Putty. They combined everything they found. There's a roll of the stuff the size of a beach ball. That's the most normal thing they've done all week.

I worry about the northwest corner.

February 28, 2006

Despite their apparent insanity, the denizens of the mall's northwest quadrant have proven surprisingly effective at maintaining security. There's a sort of heirarchy, at least as far as social matters go. A fellow named Keane is supposedly the "king" of the area, though I haven't seen him giving many orders other than for his "subjects" to be festive. It was at his order that the liquor store was raided and the "whiskey fountain" was built—a rather remarkable bit of engineering, considering the state of things. He's also presided over a number of UD&D games. I am reminded of college.

When it comes to more practical matters, the Upper Left Corner, as they call themselves, is more of a collectivism. First aid is distributed evenly, and anyone who can barricade does. The undead occasionally break in through the south or east entrances, and the Upper Left Corner is swift to help clear them out.

There's a NecroTech building nearby. I've been using it to manufacture syringes. I've been taking them to a dedicated revive point in a church a few blocks away. Unfortunately, some of that area are too severely decomposed to be revived. It's difficult enough to collect a decent amount of revivification supplies, run to the church, jump out into the throngs of undead, revive as many as possible, and get back in one piece. With all that, it's hard to destroy any hopeless cases I run across. I try, though.


March 13, 2006

I haven't made an entry in a while. Not a lot has happened. I'm still in the vicinity of Caiger Mall, and the siege continues. I think it's waning, though. There are hundreds of people in the mall and frankly, not too many undead outside, from what I can tell. I go out every now and again, to revive those who have fallen to the plague. I don't find many at the revive points any more, except a few poor bastards too rotten to be revived. Sometimes I take a moment to reconnoiter on the way back. The horde is thinning, in my opinion.

This will be the second siege to fail since the plague hit. Another victory for Caiger, another victory for Malton, and another victory for the living. We may yet get out of here alive.

March 22, 2006

The siege has more or less ended. There's still a mob of undead outside the mall, but far less than before, and they're less...organized, if that term can even be applied to the undead.

I was in a mood to celebrate, and someone had mentioned that there was a club still active in Dunell Hills. I hiked over seems the horde had the same idea. I had one drink before the place was crawling with zobs. There was a police station a block north, which seemed to be occupied by an organized band of survivors, so I took refuge there. Some of them were in bad shape, so I patched them up with the first-aid kits I'd collected during the last days of the siege.

The horde broke in last night. I fixed up the barricades and used up the last of my ammunition...then I had to leave. Got a nasty bite on the way out. Right now, I'm sitting in a NecroTech office a couple of blocks away. Oddly enough, I ran into the guy who used to run Radio Free Malton. I'd ask him if he's still doing that, but he's a little scary.


April 3, 2006

I headed back to Caiger for more supplies. When I came back to Dunell Hills...everyone was dead. The police station had fallen. The whole suburb was a necropolis. I did what I could at the revivification point, but as dusk set in, I couldn't find a single safe place to sleep. I passed out in a library...woke up a week later a few suburbs away.

I'm back in Yagoton now, for the first time since the siege of Caiger. They've been working steadily, clearing out Bale for days. A group of reporters helped out a lot in that effort. I ran into a famous anchor in a warehouse just south of the mall.

I think the bug that's causing all this trouble is developing a resistance to the revivification serum we've been using. It's no good just injecting it into the carotid anymore—you've got to inject it directly into the brainstem, which of course takes much more effort. The clinic is redoubling its efforts...but I'll have to be especially careful not to get eaten.

April 13, 2006

Yagoton is more or less okay, for now. I've spent the past ten days cleaning out Bale Mall. It's finally fit for human habitation again. Most of the other buildings in Yagoton still aren't safe, but I received word a few days ago that the Whatmore Building is inhabited again. They said they needed a generator, and luckily for them, I happened to have one on hand.

I've spent most of my time in Southall Mansion on the border of East Boundwood, just north of Yagoton. Turns out my friends from Caiger Mall's "Upper Left Corner" had taken up residence there. Small world, I suppose. I think they were planning on moving again; I didn't stick around that long.

I'm writing from Club Meade right now. I couldn't help them last month, but I figure I'd drop by now and lend a hand where it's needed. They've also got what may be the only cold alcoholic beverages in Malton. I've had nothing but water since October, and it's made me terribly thirsty.

April 27, 2006

Been a while since I last wrote. I've been at Club Meade, or thereabouts, for two weeks. I stomped on a few heads, went through a good quantity of ammunition and first-aid supplies. That area's in poor shape—there's not a lot one person can do there, no matter how many shotgun shells he's got. I did manage to stock up on ammunition at one of the police departments. I found a Kevlar vest while I was there. Not that it will do me much good against the undead—they mostly go for the arms and neck.

It's a good day's hike between there and Yagoton. I'm back at the clinic right now, and the relative calm is a relief. In fact, the clinic is downright quiet. Perhaps I should have stayed at Meade, where they needed more help.

I've been planning for another expedition. There are two military bases in Malton. Every soldier I've run into has told me the same thing—the bases are dead. It would explain all the displaced soldiers, foraging for food along with the rest of us survivors, but there are too many things that don't make sense. How could these creatures bring down a modern military base with no guns, no intelligence, and no ability to run? Where are all the assault rifles and submachine guns? Wouldn't the military have some kind of impregnable bunker? Whatever the answers are, they lie in Creedy and Perryn.

I've been told the areas around the forts are pretty hairy, especially Creedy. I'll need to gather some supplies if I'm to make it there and back alive.


May 2, 2006

Fort Creedy is a mausoleum. Any weapons of significance were already gone—all I could find were the same shotguns and pistols I've found all over the city. Maybe I'll have better luck at Perryn.

May 4, 2006

Fort Perryn was, if anything, in worse shape. The armory was trashed—I couldn't even find weapons or ammunition. But there were far fewer shamblers inside than I found in Creedy. I thought about clearing the place out—with a few days, I could probably make it liveable. I could clean it up, and maybe find some of the weapons that must have been scattered about.

I left the fort and looked for a place to stay while I prepared to take back the fort. I passed through a NecroTech lab on the way to a police station, and an odd bit of gossip caught my ear—a group of local celebrities is planning to establish a revivification point just west of the city center, and they're asking for help from my old comrades at the Yagoton Revivification Clinic.

Well. I guess the fort and its answers will have to wait.

May 10, 2006

I ventured back to the clinic for supplies. Well, that and revivification. It seems the clinic is in the middle of a low-intensity conflict with a horde one guy called the Minions of the Apocalypse. I've installed two or three generators in the Whatmore Building; every one was smashed within a day.

I'd better stay here and keep things sane.

May 14, 2006

I turned on my radio for the first time in weeks today. First thing I heard was something about a military operation—a real, organized op, not just some survivors' hunting party. At least, that's what it sounded like.

Most of the speakers were using code names, but I heard a few references to certain individuals and locations. I've been asking around, and a few people pointed south. I'm headed for Shackleville. The Clinic can survive without me for a few days.

May 24, 2006

I'm back from Shackleville. Did I find what I was looking for? Well, yes and no.

I've been a bit secretive about just what I was after until now. I'm not really sure why—maybe I was paranoid about someone snooping through this journal. Maybe I was afraid I'd jinx myself by writing down what I hoped was true. Well, no need to worry about that anymore.

I was looking for something called The Fortress. I couldn't figure out whether they were really military or not, but from the transmission I picked up, they sounded bloody well organized. A few people I talked to said they were truly tough bastards, with a network of nigh-impenetrable safehouses. From the sound of things, if anyone could turn the tide of this plague, it would be them.

When I got to Shackleville, all I found were grown men playing soldier. A few military types, sure, but most of them were rank amateurs wearing trenchcoats as if there were any need to conceal a shotgun or a brace of pistols in Malton. A few carried around Japanese swords, some stolen from museums, some cheap knock-offs. I doubt any of them knew how to wield one properly (not that I do, but then, I don't carry one around). I gave what assistance I could, stayed for a while to rest, then hiked back to Yagoton.

If there's any hope for this city, it's in the hands of the Clinic staff.


June 11, 2006

Been a while since I wrote last. I've been tinkering with this shortwave radio I found in the NecroTech lab. I more or less figured out how it works. Hell, in a quarantined city of death, a guy needs a hobby or he's liable to lose his mind.

June 19, 2006

The Yagoton Revivification Clinic has been pretty quiet for the past few days. Every now and then someone makes his way into the church, but more often than not, their brains are too badly decomposed for us to help them. The NecroTech labs actually have neurosurgery facilities where we can repair the damage with cadaver tissue, but just try getting one of those things strapped down on a surgical table. Typically, we've been forced to commit mercy killings.

Anyway, with things being so quiet, I've decided to make another expedition to Club Meade to see if they need any help. And it turns out they do. I have to commend Mr. San Cristobol for even trying to keep a club functioning somewhat normally in these circumstances. Unfortunately, the area is apparently under frequent attack, and the place is usually either understaffed and over-barricaded or overrun completely. I'll do what I can, as little as it is.

I've been thinking more about The Fortress. They can't all be like the people I described, or else they'd all be dead now. Their "base" isn't that far from the center of the city, which is more or less no-man's-land. There must be enough of them who are good at staying alive. I'm going to keep an eye on them.

June 23, 2006

I went to Club Meade, but there wasn't much I could do. The place was well-barricaded, and there were no zombies inside. (Did I just write that? I've been trying to avoid using that word.) There were no survivors either. I guess they were all holed up around town. Anyway, with nothing to kill, no one to heal, no need to barricade, and no one to help me hold the fort, I took off.

I went back to the Fortress. I'm pleased to report that I didn't see a single trenchcoat or katana this time around. Some of them seemed a bit cocky, but that's nothing unusual among people who've stayed alive in Malton this long. Unfortunately, I still don't think they're ready for prime time.

I was on my way back when I stopped to take a break in Nichols Mall. They seem to be in some trouble. Since Yagoton seemed pretty clear when I left, I'm going to stay here and try to help out as much as I can. I should start with finding a designated revivification point, since I have so many of these syringes.

June 30, 2006

I'm back at the Clinic now. Things are nice and quiet in Yagoton. The queue at St. Swithun's Church is short. I'm well-stocked with ammunition, medical supplies, and revivification serum. Things aren't perfect, of course—we still find the occasional hopeless case in the church that we have to destroy. There's also this prick who keeps wrecking the generators in the Whatmore Building. Fortunately, the factory nearby seems to have been manufacturing them before the epidemic hit, so we've got a steady supply.

If things stay quiet, I might head over to Caiger Mall to see how they're holding up.


July 3, 2006

According to some reports, today marked an entire year since disaster befell Malton. I wouldn't know, since I was sequestered in a lab from June to October of last year, but it sounds about right.

Helicopters have been dropping crates full of supplies over the town today—supplementing our dwindling resources. Some people got it in their head to have a "celebration" of sorts—mostly firing flare guns at helicopters.

Tomorrow is Independence Day back in the good old USA. I should be having a barbecue, but instead I have to put up with the undead smashing at the doors and windows all day, all night.

If it really has been one year since the outbreak began, it makes me wonder: are they ever going to evacuate the survivors that they obviously know are here? Or will they nuke the town someday to stop the infection from spreading?

Or will they just wait for the last of us to die?

July 18, 2006

Yagoton is really quiet. I meant to write, but nothing has happened in this town in two weeks. My fellow scientists and I have been maintaining the clinic, as usual; the queues are short and service is quick, which is always good. About the most irritating thing to happen lately is the occasional case of cortex damage. Well, there is this one guy—a severely mentally handicapped man someone rescued from a home for the developmentally disabled. Apparently, he'd been trapped in the basement there for months, living off of dead rats and his own feces. The poor stunted bastard keeps trying to have sex with the generators and, naturally, that sort of thing voids a warranty pretty quickly. But, Christ, what are we supposed to do, put him out on the street? He can hardly tie his own shoes—he wouldn't survive an hour exposed in Malton.

A team of newsmen have survived, and have been making regular radio broadcasts. They say the zombies are getting sort of organized again (insofar as they ever do), much like they did during the attacks on Caiger. A horde is moving through the heart of the city. It puts me in a bit of a pickle. Do I leave to help out the besieged survivors, or do I stay here to help with the inevitable tide of victims needing our services?

July 30, 2006

I seem to have started a new branch of the YRC. We've got three NecroTech facilities in Yagoton: Whatmore is the primary, serving the Swithun's clinic to the south. The Style Building serves our backup at Harkness Street. The Serrell Building is on the edge of the suburb, far from any resource buildings and only sparsely inhabited. In other words, it's perfect for a brain rot clinic.

With the proper facilities, it's possible to revive even zombies with badly decomposed brains. However, in order to keep the clinic running smoothly, it has to remain unbarricaded, so the zombies can get in, and powered, so I can work. I expect a lot of undead to wander in, smashing the generator, not realizing I'm trying to help them. Fortunately, there's a factory nearby which manufactured portable generators prior to the outbreak, and there seems to be plenty of stored fuel.

The other issue that worries me are survivors who still try to hole up inside and barricade the place. I have to come in a couple of times a day just to pry down bits of plywood and office chairs jammed in the entrance. It's less than convenient, for me and for my clients. Even so, I'm pleased with how things are coming together.


August 11, 2006

Haven't written in a while because very little has happened. I'm still trying to get the rotter clinic into a smooth routine, but it's proving difficult. For instance, I'm having a hard time finding fuel for the generator. Also, despite the warnings helpfully spraypainted on the inside and outside of the building, some people still insist on sleeping inside, and barricading the doors and windows. This, of course, makes it harder for our undead friends to get inside and receive their treatment.

I offered a passing survivor a ham sandwich if he would help me tear down the barricades. I figured he wouldn't take the offer seriously—after all, with no refrigeration for about a year, all the ham in the city is probably badly spoiled by now, if it hasn't completely rotted away. Anyway, the guy took the barricades down, for which I was grateful, but when I could not provide a sandwich, he actually pulled out a pistol and started shooting at me. I guess a year of this insanity has taken its toll on some people.

The Yagoton Revivification Clinic staff have been very helpful, though. This whole operation would still be at square one if not for them.

August 24, 2006

I haven't written in two weeks. Again, it's been pretty slow.

I'm finding a lot of generators—as I've said before, I think they were manufactured in some of these factories. Unfortunately, I'm not finding very much of the fuel I need to run them. This has been one of the biggest "natural" obstacles to the success of the clinic.

The "unnatural" obstacles, however, are somewhat worse. Despite the liberal graffiti and over a month of reminders and admonitions, some people have yet to get the hint. Barricade reduction is a regular task. Furthermore, some people (including, I believe, a few clients) have damaged our generators. I think that survivor I mentioned earlier is stalking me on account of the "ham sandwich incident." Worse, a lot of hostile undead have been seen in the area, and they've been making things difficult for me and my colleagues.

I'm out of syringes and out of fuel. I'd better take a few days off to scrounge up supplies.


September 9, 2006

I've scrounged up plenty of supplies now. I'm still not finding much fuel—perhaps a full tank for every two generators I come across. It's too bad I can't hook them up to some kind of bicycle dynamo or something.

Things suddenly got rough here, quickly. I've been attacked several times in buildings I'd assumed were safe. More than once, I woke up to the sounds of shuffling footsteps. I darted across rooftops from one building to another, but I couldn't find a place that hadn't been breached. Someone said a big horde was coming this way—I wonder if this is what he was talking about.

More and more, I find bodies curled in the Swithun's revive clinic, too decomposed for us to help. I wonder if we—survivors, I mean—might survive this crisis simply by waiting for the dead to crumble to dust.


October 2, 2006

A good-sized horde of shamblers passed through our humble suburb over the past couple of weeks; all of our barricades were badly wrecked and it's taken a couple of days to put them back together. Fortunately, things seem to be settling down.

An odd thing happened the other day. I revived a badly decomposed zombie that had wandered into the Serrell Building; this isn't unusual, since it is our brain-rot clinic. I had to leave before he regained consciousness—but he tracked me down to the factory where I was scrounging for generators and chewed me out. Not literally—he was still among the living—but he told me he actually preferred being undead.

I've heard of this before. There are a lot of death cultists in Malton, even now. A lot more people who just can't take the day-to-day struggle of staying alive, and choose to join the opposing team, so to speak. Meanwhile, well-meaning people get over-zealous with their revivification syringes and start reviving zombies outside of the designated zones. It happened much more before they started developing resistance to the serum. But I've never heard of it happening to one this badly decomposed.

October 7, 2006

I ventured down to Shackleville again today. I've criticized the Fortress folk before, but I will say this: they know how to maintain a stronghold. That's why I'm here—it's a safe place to rest. I plan to head to the power stations over the next few days to see if I can't scare up some more fuel for our generators. Who knows; maybe I'll figure a way to get the damn things running so we don't even have to bother with portable generators in every building. While I'm in the area, I might check on the forts too. There's got to be something useful in those places.

While I was spending the night in a mall on my way down here, someone smashed a generator. I didn't catch him in time, but I did get a good look at him. Today, I found him crouching by himself in a disused building claimed by the Fortress. Naturally, I put some airholes in his face. I mean, people are fighting for their lives here. Destroying vital resources is a pretty dickish thing to do.

October 13, 2006

Fittingly, it's a Friday. I'm holed up in an office building right now, listening to the pounding of decomposing fists against the doors. A few dozen people are in here with me, throwing conference tables and office chairs onto the barricades.

From the top floor, I can see Nichols Mall. The lights are on, at least in the west portion. Considering how many zombies are milling about outside, they may not stay on for long. I was inside not too long ago; there must be over 150 zombies inside the place.

Some people here are beating their chests and talking about reclaiming the mall with sheer force, as if that were possible. Actually, they're not even acknowledging that they've lost it yet—there are still people alive inside. The usual strategy for holding a mall is to maintain the barricades as an absolute first priority—if the zombies get inside, the barricades are supposed to be fixed before anyone even points a shotgun at a walking corpse. How are you supposed to barricade a building when 150 flesh-eaters are already behind you?

I'm advocating full evacuation—to where, I honestly couldn't say. Anywhere but the mall. Within 24 hours, Nichols will be completely gonked.

October 16, 2006

Nichols is gone. Under cover of darkness, I made my way to Ackland Mall a neighborhood or so away. That's where the remnants of Malton's premiere news team are camped out, and they've proven themselves extremely capable. Ackland seemed like a pretty safe place...turns out, not so much.

I'm in Bale Mall now, licking my wounds and searching for ammunition. I've heard conflicting reports; some people say Ackland was evacuated and Burgundy's boys are mounting a campaign to take it back right now. Other people say it's a mortuary. I'm not taking any chances. Back at my old turf, I'm going to do what I can to defend against the horde if they come through here. Right now, that means stockpiling: ammunition, medical supplies, and revivification syringes, for the most part, just like the old days. If the brain rot clinic has to be suspended for a short time, so be it.

October 26, 2006

Today marks exactly one year that I've been dodging zombies on the streets of Malton. Accordingly, I made the only appropriate response, given the circumstances: I got drunk and started shouting on the shortwave radio. I had a bottle of wine with me—just a cheap Chianti I took from Club Meade after surviving the second siege of Caiger Mall. I must have downed the whole thing in a matter of minutes. I have no memory of what happened next, but when I woke up, I was in Workman Towers, slumped over a radio transmitter.

On sobering up—and cleaning myself off—I began to think about the situation here. Malton became the site of the most bizarre disaster ever to befall the human race over a year ago. Since the quarantine, I haven't seen anyone enter or leave the city. As supplies dwindle, helicopters—sent by the government or NecroTech or Elvis, I have no idea—drop in crates of ammunition and comestibles. They obviously know that thousands of survivors are hiding out here, but not one move has been made to retake the city, or even rescue survivors.

I've seen the edges of the quarantine. Malton is surrounded by huge, ancient city walls dating back 800 years or so. After the outbreak, their gates were bricked up or sealed with massive steel doors. The tops have been lined with barbed wire and, if the rumors are true, antipersonnel mines have been laid to prevent anyone from getting within 100 yards of it. I've also heard there are snipers posted on the wall, though I've not seen them myself.

Why don't they rescue us? Why don't they let us leave? Why don't they send in teams to clean out the zombies? Are they afraid that survivors may cary latent traces of infection? If so, why haven't any scientific teams been sent in?


November 3, 2006

We were hit with a thick, debilitating fog on Halloween. That made things interesting. And by interesting, I mean terrifying. It's one thing when you can see the walking dead shambling toward you. But when you can only hear the moans coming out of that pea soup...

Someone attacked me the other day—said that the Yagoton Revivification Clinic was "responsible" for the outbreak, as if they even existed before all this crap started going down. If anything, I'd bet NecroTech was responsible somehow. Even then, I had no idea anything was going on until the dead were already wandering the streets. So what the hell does this have to do with me?

November 12, 2006

The current situation in Malton...different. On the one hand, for the first time since the early outbreaks, Caiger Mall has fallen to the decomposing. How the hell that happened, I have no idea. Some people are claiming that the horde which finally gonked it was smarter, somehow, and acted more organized.

On the other hand, and again for the first time since the early outbreaks, Ridleybank is now firmly in human control. Since practically last year, someone has been rallying survivors together in order to strike at the core (and, according to some, the source) of the zombie epidemic. The leader went by a code name, which actually isn't all that uncommon—I think half the surviving population has adopted a nom de guerre at this point—but according to whom you talk to, he took his inspiration for the raid from either a decades-old graphic novel or a relatively new movie. Since I haven't been to a working theater in over a year, and there don't appear to be any comic book stores in Malton, I can't say either way.

The point is, we've lost our biggest symbol of human hope, but we've snatched the undead's biggest symbol of dominance and strength. And that symbol, being an entire suburb, is much bigger than our piddling mall. I think this bodes well.

I've heard rumors that a certain NecroTech laboratory in Ridleybank, going by the code name "Zulu" was actually the source of the outbreak. I'm not sure which building it was housed in, but with the suburb safe for a breathing man to tread for the first time in sixteen months, this is an unprecedented opportunity to do a little digging.

November 20, 2006

No time to look for Zulu now. Too much is happening. First of all, that damnable horde which took out Caiger is swarming Bale Mall right now. They've broken through, and a lot of the peripheral Clinic buildings are too dangerous to visit.

I'm on the roof now, trying to survey the size of the horde. I only mention this because about eight seconds ago, a pair of black helicopters buzzed overhead in the direction of the southeast. I'm guessing they're heading for the forts—which one, I don't know. But if there's any hope for Yagoton, I'm betting I can find it by following those helicopters.


December 3, 2006

I left Bale Mall on November 20 or 21—I can't remember if midnight had passed. Hours later, I learned over the radio that Bale was in the grimy hands of the zombies. Does that make me a deserter, or just smart enough to stay alive? In any case, I wasn't leaving because of them—I was leaving in spite of them. I've heard helicopters over the city before, and seen the crates they've occasionally dropped, but this was different. Supply helicopters don't fly in formation. These guys were serious business.

I couldn't tell which fort they were headed for, but I knew they weren't headed anywhere else. I picked Fort Creedy more or less randomly—and I had a devil of a time getting in. The perimeter wall had been repaired and strengthened. It was higher than the rooftops of any nearby building, so I couldn't jump over it, even if I'd been inclined to break my ankles. The only way in—or out—was through the gatehouse on the west side.

That wasn't the only difference. The other buildings had been restored to a semblance of functionality as well. There was an infirmary, a supply depot, barracks, all in addition to the armory, which was previously the only semi-defendable structure there. But the military, or their engineers, were all gone. I couldn't see anyone there who didn't have the weary eyes of a veteran Maltonite. Why did they repair the fort—and then leave so suddenly?

I'd thought that, with these repairs, the forts would be impregnable human fortresses, a hundred times more secure than Caiger ever was. With only a single entrance and plenty of medical supplies and weapons already on the inside, how could the place ever fall?

Simply put, there were already too many zombies on the inside by the time I arrived there. I stayed as long as I could, but the walls kept the horde from dispersing—in effect, concentrating them inside. I was forced to leave, and I have no idea who occupies Creedy now.

I visited Fort Perryn as well. It, too, had been restored, but there wasn't a beating heart within.

Oddly enough, on my way back to Yagoton, I stopped for a rest in a NecroTech facility called the Blackmore Building. While looking for revivification syringes, I found a curious door in the basement—actually, more like a blast door. The keypad next to it was fried, so I couldn't get inside even if I had the access code, but the stenciled letters on the heavy steel told me everything I needed to know. There were four of them, and they read "ZULU."

December 18, 2006

I went to Bale Mall looking for generators. After jumping from rooftop to rooftop over alleys piled with cadavers, jumping from a fire escape through a smashed, second-story window of the Dawbin Museum, navigating its labrynthine corridors to the roof access door, spraining an ankle jumping down to the roof of Bale Mall a story below, climbing down through a shattered skylight on a precariously arranged balanced stack of crates, and limping past two dozen looted storefronts to a hardware store—after doing all this in a city plagued by fifty thousand cannibalistic walking corpses for a year and a half, where survivors shoot and stab and beat each other to death over canned goods or ammunition or out of paranoia or simply because they can...

Someone had set up a small fir tree and strung some red Christmas lights around it.

Malton simply never ceases to surprise me. What was the deal with this tree? Did some anonymous person set up this holiday decoration as a last, defiant act of irony? Had he resigned himself to his fate as a survivor of Malton—someone who, in all probability, will never be rescued; who will die in Malton among the walking dead after a brief life of scavenging for food and scurrying between barricaded, abandoned buildings? Or among all this chaos, this viral holocaust, did someone feel a touch of genuine Christmas spirit?

Who the hell knows? But after I walked off the pain in my ankle and left for the Whatmore building, I found more Christmas trees set up in other buildings. I don't know if it's the work of one man who lost his mind and decided to decorate this city-sized mausoleum for the holidays, or if jolly good cheer is spreading through town like the zombie virus...but I'm looking for my own tree now.



March 1, 2007

I haven't written in well over two months. Why? Because absolutely nothing has happened since Christmas. Well, nothing until now.

There's another horde of zombies coming through Yagoton. I've lost track of how many times the mall has changed hands. We're fairly safe here in the Whatmore Building, but even here we have the occasional break-in. There seems to be a mess all over Malton—Ron Burgundy is here, and he warned us that we might get hit with a ton of overflow from all the other revive points in the city.

As usual, some people are chanting their usual, practical mantras—barricade before you kill; kill before you heal; heal before you revive. As usual, other people are completely ignoring that advice.

The city is fairly polarized now. It seems like every NecroTech facility in Malton has been stocked with revivification components fit to last until the end of time. There's no shortage of the stuff, and after a year and a half, even the undead retain enough memory from living to find a revivification point if that's their will. Anyone who wants to remain metabolically active, in other words, has that option, no matter how many of them start munching on his flesh.

The flip-side is a bitch, though. About half the city has embraced the superstitions of the death cults which have existed here since the outbreak. In other words, they choose to die and stay dead—or undead—and they recruit aggressively. And since you can never be sure if you've really killed one of those things (no matter how many bullets you've put into it), extermination is not an option—at least, not with conventional weapons.

I doubt a propaganda campaign would work. But there has to be some solution.


June 1, 2007

I'm writing less and less. After all this time, practically nothing that happens in this city seems new or noteworthy anymore. Another zombie rampage through Yagoton; once again, the team pulled together and kept the clinic going. Serrell is powered about 50% of the time. Canned food continues to be plentiful; sometimes it drops from the sky, along with weapons and medical equipment.

I finally replaced my lab coat. It got so filthy with blood and zombie goo that it started to become a health hazard, so I grabbed another one from storage. Funny how in the middle of a crisis like this, you become attached to inanimate objects.

I found a skull in a nearby museum. It reminded me of what death used to mean, so I decided to take it with me. Am I losing my mind?


August 14, 2007

Yagoton is in shambles. The clinic is practically unable to function. The mall is gone—and I mean gone. The zombies are getting stronger, or the buildings are getting weaker due to lack of maintenance...either way, the mall is so severely damaged it can't be used as a shelter.

I've heard some progress has been made at the forts—someone rigged a system to get dead bodies over the wall and outside the fort. I think I'll make my way to Creedy at first light.


October 11, 2007

I've been in Fort Creedy for nearly two months, mostly operating the local revive point. Even here, we get the occasional rotter who will gather with all the other zombies waiting for revivification. They're a hazard and a nuisance, so if we can't get them into a NecroTech facility for proper treatment, we're forced to kill them. Tragic, but necessary.

I was looking for ammunition for that very purpose when I found the map. It's an old map of Malton's sewers and service tunnels, dating back to before World War I, so I'm not sure how accurate it is, but it displays an old rail tunnel that was sealed off in the 1890s. The tunnel has several surface access points for maintenance workers, and one of them is outside the city wall—the wall that serves as the border for Malton's present quarantine. If I can get to that tunnel and unseal it...I might be able to get out of Malton altogether.

It's going to be tough—I'll need a lot of supplies just to get there intact. That's to say nothing of how I'm going to unseal it, or what's inside...for all I know, NecroTech built a lab there years ago and it's crawling with zombies or worse. And if I'm caught trying to escape, the army might execute me, and I doubt there will be any revive waiting for me then. I'd better be extra cautious.



February 1, 2008

I never thought I'd see this journal again, let alone write in it.

I found the tunnel—it was in the rail station in the southwest corner of New Arkham—but the neighborhood was in pretty bad shape. I didn't think highly of my odds of staying alive long enough to clear it, so I came back to Yagoton for a little while. While I was there, I stashed this journal somewhere. I hoped maybe someone would find it and it would help them...maybe I was being naive. There's no one left in this city who doesn't have enough experience to fill their own journal...

Eventually I went back to New Arkham and yes, I actually did leave Malton. I'm pleased to report that the world outside the city still exists, free of infection. I also learned how the outside world responded to the covering it up. Seriously. It wasn't until someone spilled his guts to the papers a few weeks after the outbreak that word got out at all. Apparently there's some big commission trying to get to the bottom of it now, but word is they've stalled and the investigation is going nowhere.

So why am I back here? Well, it has to do with that commission. There was a guy involved named Liam Preston, from the Royal College of Surgeons. He asked me what I'd seen, what I'd learned. Then he offered me a scientific partnership. Gave me a fancy satellite phone and asked me to conduct further research inside the city. He said he might be able to use his connections to get me out again before they nuke the city—he seemed pretty confident they eventually would—and he'd make sure I was declared safe to re-enter the normal human population. Even if he can't get me a helicopter out of here, he reassured me he could give me enough notice to get out of the city before they permanently sterilize it.

We both knew it would be a big risk for me to come back here. Not because of the zombies, of course. If I've learned anything, it's that death is never permanent here, at least from normal means. The risk is from his theoretical nuclear contingency. But what can I say, I'm in love with science. I'll do what I can to help him crack this biological mystery.


March 12, 2008

Bad news from Preston. Apparently, there's been an outbreak in the United States. A New Jersey town called Monroeville is in the grip of the same plague we have here. The city's been quarantined, although survivors have been uploading videos to the internet. What's worse, NecroTech doesn't own any laboratory facilities in Monroeville, so anyone who dies there is going to stay dead until someone can find a way to synthesize the counter-agent outside of Malton and airlift it into Monroeville.

My old college buddy Anselm Hadrian is stationed at a military base in that area. I hope he's alright.


June 18, 2008

The quarantine in Monroeville was temporarily lifted so the Army could send in more soldiers—completely unprepared, of course. Preston was able to check my friend's name against the database of known KIAs. Apparently, my friend was murdered by a roaming psychopath a couple of months back.

I think it's time I left this city. I've requested that Preston send an evac helicopter to get me out. We'll see if he comes through.


May 11, 2010

No helicopter. No response on my radio, either. My signal flares attracted a horde...I dropped my journal getting away. Been just the usual grind since then.

Kind of funny running into this old journal. I was back in this neighborhood scrounging for food...the smell of grease cooking led me here. Someone had scrawled the word "McZed's" in blood and feces all over the walls...he'd been frying up parts of zombies, or humans...too badly decomposed to tell. Lord knows where he got the grease.

Anyway, I found the cook with the barrel of a shotgun in his mouth and this book in his lap, open to the last page. I grabbed the journal and left.

A few hours ago I saw a lot of black smoke coming from somewhere behind me, and it occurred to me I never did put out the fire he was cooking with.

I've been hearing some interesting things on the EBS. There's a plan to escape Malton. The area near the escape tunnel in New Arkham has gotten very dangerous, but some people think they might actually be able to get out through another rail station on the border. They've set a date of June 1. I think I'll keep an eye on them - but carefully. I have a sneaking suspicion they'll all be executed.


June 5, 2010

The mass escape was a bust. It looks like all of the would-be escapees figured that if they massed together in one place, the quarantine force would cave and send them a train, or open the barricade for them, or something.

Dumbasses. Like that hadn't been tried a dozen times when the outbreaks first started.

I'm heading back to New Arkham. Zombies be damned; I'll shoot my way out of this city if I have to.

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