User:MorthBabid

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--The Collected NecroTech Logs of Dr.Morth Babid--

  • Theoretical Neuroscience: Do Dead Men Dream? Anomalies of the Undead Brain by Dr. Benedict VonJensen
    • Excerpt: "With a sufficient electrical impulse delivered directly to the brain itself, the dead tissue was revived for short periods of time. While movement in the limbs and musculature was achieved, tactile stimulation revealed no apparent sensation of touch, pain, nor any reaction to extreme temperature changes. Whereas the subject retained no emotional awareness whatsoever nor any distinguishable speech capabilities, the body itself reverted inexplicably to its basest of states, the brain seeking out its most primitive needs. Namely, sustenance. Subjects were unresponsive to verbal communication, though readily reacted to and oftentimes followed, sound. The brain itself, deprived of bloodflow, but enlivened through an electrical charge, will slowly deteriorate over time, making even the most direct electrical stimulus useless."

      Thus reads the first chapter of a man who was once my greatest tutor and dearest friend. He never had to witness the horrors of his work first hand as I have here in Malton, for he has passed the realm of both life and undeath. I, however, am left here to bear testament to what Dr.VonJensen only theorised...that the dead dream. I know this, for I have lived in both the world of light and shadow; as the living and as the undead. Here is written what I have experienced, so mankind may benifit, lest it forever plunge into the clutches of Charon and drown in a river of undeath.


Shroomy.JPG Dr.Babid's NecroTech Log Archives
This NecroTech employee has an archive of their log entries. All logs from previous dates will be stored there.
Malton chronicle.jpg This story is part of the Malton Chronicles.
This story is fan-made, and is not officially part of any background history for Urban Dead.
Morth Babid
Starting Occupation: Necrotech Lab Assistant
Group Membership: Yagoton Revivification Clinic
Goals: Cure the zombie epidemic; Improve Malton's quality of life
Username: MorthBabid
More details: Urban Dead profile



Febuary 2007

February 7, 2007

Citizens dwelling in the Bale Mall area, interviewed by members of the YRC staff and other non-member groups, are all reporting that the level of ferocity the undead show toward generators and other mechanical devices has heightened to an almost pathological drive. Many reports confirm zombies have ignored large groups of the living to exclusively destroy and rip apart mechanical devices in the immediate area prior to feeding upon local survivors. Some fail to feed at all! They eagerly exhaust themselves first in their ransacking, often babbling before or during these attacks, only to stumble into a haze of staggering non-awareness while the stunned survivors scramble to put them down and replace their damaged tools of civilization.


Additionally, reporters from the Channel 4 News Team have helped confirm my suspicions about the 'Mall Tour' and its drop in horde membership. While the early gathering of zombies seemed to build a distinct critical mass, individual clusters of the undead seemed to become distracted or fixated on other targets. Some were quite obviously drawn by various feeding groans rather than simply following large clusters of the horde mentality.


All of this behavior has truly done away with our old preconceptions of the undead state, and indeed brought validity to my own experiences with undeath that I've documented in my past logs. On one hand, this discovery brings comfort. I am not alone in my horrible duality of existence, nor am I a madman or emotional wreck for having experienced this duality of self in the thin line of death and undeath.


There is clearly both a collective horde mentality present in a zombie, but there is also obviously the unique capacity for individual conceptualization. Of this none of my colleges or rivals in the scientific community can deny. The question now becomes not one of this 'awareness' and its existence, but of its origin. Is the original infestation of whatever causes the undead state responsible for this? Or is it but a factor which serves only to bring out innate levels of sub-conscious awareness buried within the human self? Could it be some sort of state akin to Jung's objective psyche, where a previously animalistic creature of instinct evolves due to stresses toward a state of individuation?


Sadly, our empirical knowledge doesn't yet let us know these things. I've heard more than a few suggestions of physical experimentation upon the undead to determine this, but I personally find the idea unethical and have expressed as much publicly. The undead of Malton are to be pitied and treated, not treated as inhuman subjects to be examined or an animal whom sacrifice commits to the greater good. Such ideas are the fuel thats created The Neon Knights and other anti-science groups. While we strive for objectivity, we must not got so far to as to deny the core civil rights of these individuals.


The Brain Rotted, whom must sadly be put down by force without proper lab conditions to cure them, are not to blame for their state. It's not like they chose to be like this; They're the victims of a malady, not the malady ITSELF.


On a personal note: I've been drinking a bit much as of late. Growing a bit worrisome. I've been trying to keep people informed to search any nearby factory they can for generators and fuel cans, what with the rash of zombie-based destruction and general anarchy caused by less civil folks here in Yagoton. I guess the stress has been getting to me. I'm going to try to go cold turkey.


The Quartly Study Group has been quite helpful not only professionally but also in keeping my mind of the bottle and into a few good books. I've grown a bit bored with my current poetry book, and they've promised to dig up something that might peak my interest.


I look forward to any relaxation that doesn't come in the form of a tempting poison.

January 2007

January 26, 2007

It's a bit odd that, even while I'm not a medical doctor by traditional means, my line of work has come to involve the well-being and health of my fellow human beings; Undead or otherwise. As such, it's a bit shamefull that I haven't previously considered the depth of the public health care situation in Malton until I personally needed it the most.


I broke my glasses.


It was the damnedest thing. One minute I was broadcasting a message on the joint YRC/Abandoned radio channel, and the next I was taking fire from a senior member of the fanatical Neon Knights. In the land without death, the outcome is usually fairly straightforward. Shock, followed by death from significant blood loss and trauma, followed by the transition of differentiated tissue into a undead state, followed by animation and motility of the corpse, and soon treated via revivification. The process of death-to-undeath-to-life solves many of the matters of the flesh and bone, 'healing through death' as it were. Bullet holes and organs slowly reassert themselves, a cellular memory that's sparked quite a few controversies on theories of senescence.


But this strange process doesn't have much effect upon matters of plastic frames and prescription lenses.


Where does one find the optometrist's shop in a City of the Dead? My vision it seems, is not healed to perfection by this process of life-to-death-to-undeath-to-life. My eyes are at least as poor without my glasses when I first arrived in Malton, and as such I still require the human services of a optometrist if my glasses are significantly damaged.


Thankfully, the lenses themselves were not damaged. The right arm of the frame itself snapped during my undead exploits, apparently. A kindly civilian assisted me at the Whatmore Building with a 'self-repair' eyeglass kit they salvaged from the mall, but still the question remains: What if they become damaged all the more?


And what of other survivors in the city with their own pre-Outbreak medical needs? Are our local hospitals able to provide for persons with pacemakers, orthodontic needs, and other ailments that the zombification and revivification process cannot heal? Can we construct false limbs when required? And what about, as stunning as some may consider this, birth? Rape has reared its ugly head in Malton before, yes...but I do not doubt that even in times of woe that some consider the long term benifits of child-rearing. And if not that, we must consider the non-zombie related diseases that come with consentual (or otherwise) coitus.


The short answer to these questions: We have only each other. While the Department of Emergency Management establishes good guidlines, and the Malton Emergency Medical Services attempt to assist survivors as best they can? The population of Malton must largly fend for itself. My example of dependence on the kindness of others for what was once a simple medical need, previously provided through my employer in my case or by the state/personal institutions for others pre-Outbreak, underscores the near-desperation that many people outside of Malton may not understand.


Including our often-aloof NecroTech CEOs, quite frankly.


So consider this update in my logs a pointid remind to Malton's dependence not only on one another, and upon the organization of like-minded progressive individuals working for the good ofall, but upon the dependence of outside groups both private and public, in establishing civilization within Malton. While the airdrops of supplies in the past are appreciated, the randomness and disorganization of these deployments MUST be examined and dealt with. Malton needs help from outside its borders as much as they need help from one another.


Side-note for zombologists both in and without of Malton: The 'Mall Tour' horde has mostly come and gone. The impressive numbers we witnessed in their first pilgramage, then in excess of four hundred, was not replicated this time. Speculations abound as to why, as an organized zombie is a more sucessful zombie, and thus the horde should have grown rather than shrunk in number. I plan on asking a few questions via the NecroNet and phonelines for those who were at the earliest attacks from this resurfaced horde. It's possible they did indeed have greater numbers which may have been distracted, but...it's also possible another factor has influenced their behavior, one which may benifit us all.

October 2006

October 20, 2006

"All the leaves are brown,
(All the leaves are brown.)
And the sky is grey.
(And the sky is grey.)
I've been for a walk,
(I've been for a walk.)
On a winters day,
(On a winters day.)
I'd be safe and warm,
(I'd be safe and warm.)
If I was in L.A."


The sounds of the radio has come to Malton, filling the usually empty streets of Yagoton with music and human chatter. It's just one of the little changes I've failed to log over the many months.


Son of Uborkapete returned to us. Ridleybank is no longer the uncontested home of only humanity. Political factions, DORIS and the Confederacy of Malton, have moved slowly into Yagoton alongside the Disciples of Zeko and The Neon Knights. DNA Extractor's DNA archives have become open, giving an clear identity to the dead. The Channel Four News Team has become a Malton-wide sensation, even drawing support from a few of our more brave YRC members. The hordes have become more complex, and indisputable evidence of some form of intelligence has been proven with their ability to use rudementary sign-language to target specific buildings or persons, often driving an entire mob of zombies to drag a specific threat to their existance into the street.


I'm sure my superiors at NecroTech would then ask me: "If so much has occured, why have you failed to report? Surely you weren't distracted by all of this." And there is some truth to that. All of these events shouldn't consume all of my time. NecroTech put me here to provide data, not to leave them in the dark.


But there has been a complication.


This is no longer just my job. The YRC and Yagoton isn't just my 'research field'.


Malton is my home.


I may never see the shores of California again, or any of the West Coast. Malton is home. And I've become swept up into it. When the Battle of Blackmore began, I helped organize some of our braver souls into assisting it. When the radio came to Yagoton, I embraced the chance to help my family of Yagoton. And when people came to spread chaos or cull the weak, I put aside the need for 'data research' to help the wounded and the weak...to help my family.


If my superiors can't understand that, can't respect the choices between reports and reality I have to make, about my home? Then they're free to fire me.


It'd be a meanlingless gesture if I WAS 'fired'. Death itself means nothing in Malton, and neither does protocol. All that matters here is LIFE: How we define it, and how we shape it through our actions.


I choose to define it this way: By knowing that I'll do my best to keep frequent updates, when needed. But knowing that my first priority is to Malton and the people in it...not NecroTech. That being said? I have some curious information to pass on to NecroTech involving horde development and survivor adaptation.


Horde activity in Yagoton is minimal, mostly near the southernmost areas of the suburb. Malton's primary infestation has slowly fallen back in on itself. As the larger hordes spread into outward sections, their success rate began to fall as their concentration spread thin. This seems to conferm that the 'best' survival tactic the zombie organism has is their ability for raw, undistracted focus on a massive scale: Their single-mindedness and limited abilities allows them to accomplish specific tasks far quicker than survivors, mostly due to their inability to 'choose'. A zombie CAN choose to act alone, but will quickly be 'fustrated' by such actions. It is more an illusion of choice: Only by adhering to a single focused mass can a single zombie organism achieve success.


Survivors are learning to use guerrilla warfare tactics to exploit upon this. They allow large hordes to focus upon a specific target while using surrounding safehouses to slowly weed out and fustrate the horde into moving on. 'Victory' eventually becomes an issue of 'Who Can Last The Longest', with boredom often surpassing ability.


More research into 'Death Cultists' may shed more light into this issue. I'll continue to collect vital data and pass it along.


Before I transmit this, I'd like it to be noted that I have lost all verbal contact with YRC field agent Darrien Creek. Recent DNA Extractor data has confermed his undead state near Ridleybank where he seems to be engaged in feral activity.


Civilian researchers from the Quartly Study Group have been of great assistance in this matter, and I would advise interested NecroTech authorities to play closer attention to such civilian groups in the future.


I think they'd be surprised how much you learn when a place isn't just your job, but your home.

May 2006

May 10, 2006

I had a curious day today.


Having heard that the Whatmore Building required a fresh generator, I headed over towards the only factory in Yagoton. It's a stone throw from Bale Mall, and a far better place to search for generators than the oft-looted Hardware Store in my experience.


I was having quite a bit of trouble finding a crate that held any generators at all, and my fustration was evident to all the survivors around me. When I uncovered my six crate full of hefty Fire Axes, I lost it. I began kicking and cursing the crate, booting my foot and swinging my Crowbar about my head. I couldn't help myself...the factory was unpowered and dark, and my days have been long and tiresome as of late.


A soft chuckling distracted me, red-faced with a mixture of sudden embarassment and over-exertion, and I turned to find the source. A strange looking man with a greying beard had observed my situation with sympathy...and my antics with humor. He helped me search for a generator, but by the time I found one I was far too tired to lug it all the way to South Yagoton.


So we spent some time together and talked instead. Surprisingly, it seems this man knew my friend and Clinic founder, the Son_of_Uborkapete. I didn't have the heart to tell him about his current unknown plight, but we shared time and talks together long into the night.


Eventually, the old mans gaze turned to the crate of Fire Axes I had been abusing earlier. "You know, son...an axe can be a damn good friend in this world to a man who knows how to use 'em right." He withdrew an axe from beneath his coat, an aged and almost antiqued one that still held a sense of power and uncanny sharpness about it. I was amazed by the skill which he swung and parried such a weighty and peculiar weapon in the air. He stopped the brief demonstation and fixed me with the most strangest stare for a few moments. "Why...don't you pick up one of them axes...and we'll see if you can make a friend out of it."


I obliged. What else could I do? The night soon became day, but we slept not, and by morning the axe felt like an extention of myself. It followed my thoughts and complimented the movements of my hands, swinging gracefully and smoothly through the air.


"That's your axe now," The bearded man said as he watched me flex my newfound weapon, " so don't go losing it."


I noddidly numbly without glancing at him, still amazed and almost entranced by the grace of this strange weapon. My fatigue was gone, and I felt alive. But when I turned to properly thank the stranger...he was gone. Which was slightly spooky, as no one saw him leave.


I hope he comes across Son of Uborkapete soon, and the two are reunited on good terms. I'll miss them both till the day comes when can be rejoined in brotherhood.

May 1, 2006

The needs of Malton ever seem to take precidence over my personal desires, as I find little time to jot down my thoughts or reflect upon recent events here in Yagoton. In many respects, it has become 'buisness as usual' for the YRC. Recently, a group of dedicated clinic members allowed several subjects with Brain Rot to enter the Whatmore Building inorder to revive them with the powered lab equipment. More gather, crying out with an occasional "Mrh?" and we revive them. They are to be commended. But as I stated, it seems 'buisness as usual' to the layman of Malton.


And yet, to the more experienced eye, things have become quite UNUSUAL amidst our undead population. Once again, my colleges and I debate over the curious behaviors of the zombie "hordes" and the possible meanings (if there is any) behind their actions. I have been frequently asked to put down my own thoughts in writing on such subjects but have never found the time. This has thankfully changed due to a lull of activity in my 'home' of Yagoton. Therefore, I will dedicate this NecroTech log entry to my own observations on recent zombie events. For instance,


While I was not personally present at either of the two documented 'seiges' (and I realize many of you reading this may scoff at the term 'seige'), I did have the good fortune to have an ex-patient of mine present at the second seige. Darrien Creek text messaged rather insightful and well-thought observations to myself and other YRC members during this curious influx of zombie activity.

He noted that unlike the first seige upon Caiger, where the zombies at first attacked various sections of the mall before seeming to congegate upon the least frequently barricaded areas, this time the hordes seemed to focus upon a single area of the mall. The South-Eastern corridor was the primary focus of the largest horde of 800, with less than 10 present at any of the Mall's barricaded sections. He and others suggest that the zombies may have infact learned from the last seige and adapted their feeding habits to force a weakspot to occur rather than waiting for one to develop randomly. Others suggest that this occured simply by zombies being attracted to the largest group that first wandered near Caiger Mall by chance.

Darrien also noticed that several significantly large hordes of around 100 to 200 would often break off, and focus upon set 'Entry Points' to the Mall: Areas that were barricaded just enough to allow the less hearty survivors inside the Mall. This seems to suggest almost a corrdinated attack by the zombies inorder to box their primary food source (us) in, similar to what ancient cavemen used to do with small animals. This is, of course, only theory. But it is at least strong evidence that zombies do indeed have enough of a level of awareness to recognized a 'weak spot', and even enough cognitive ability to perhaps create 'weak spots' of their own through sheer collective force.


  • Revivification Resistance.

Recently, we've discovered that the zombie population is becoming much more resistant to our revivification process. It currently takes a significant amount of effort and solution to bring a subject back from an undead state, far more than it was during the inital outbreak. This is not a fact generally discussed with those who do not have NecroTech authorization, but news does travel fast in Malton wether we desire it to or not. I have been frequently asked by the common population and conserned military personnel as to why the zombie population is becoming so resistant.

The short answer is that we simply do not know. The longer answer inlists the two primary theories of the time: Either that the process of zombification has become altered in some way that our old methods of revivification are being 'naturally' (and I use the term 'natural' loosely) resisted by the zombie physiology, or that our current method of creating syringes is somehow tainting the quality of the product. Wether it truly is a case of immuniology or processing, none can be sure, but in my personal experience I believe it to further evidence that the zombie state is not a "simple and primitive" existance that many believe and claim it to be. It may indeed be a grim hint toward the full and terrible potential for older and more advanced zombie incarnations.


A recent thesis I'm developing for my ever-watching benefactors deals with a rather new habit of the undead: The wholesale destruction of a buildings contents by the undead, a curiously illogical behavior for a creature of instinct. Currently, this seems to happen when zombies break into a barricaded building that is currently abandoned and absent of any food source (namely, human beings). In such situations, recent long-distance observations have reported some zombies going into a sudden rage, smashing all in the immediate area of the building, leaving quite a mess.

While some argue that this is a mere animalistic development of expressing fustrative feeding urges that cannot be fuffilled (which we have seen occur before when zombies feed or attack other zombies), my thesis poses the question that the zombies may be ransacking these buildings intentionally. They have identified the building as not only the home of food, but the home of things the food uses to hurt the feeder: Our weapons, technology, and medical supplies. My research is currently unable to go into more detail due to a lack of observed subjects, but I feel more information will make itself apparent as time passes. Only a few minutes ago I overheard someone discussing how a nearby abandoned factory was ripped apart. Perhaps to destroy our ability to discover unused generators?


My. I haven't written this much in a long time. I do hope my opinions and insights are helpful to both the Maltonian layman and seasoned veterian of our existance as well. I fully intend to make good on my promise for future updates, though communications from those observing my uploaded NecroTech logs are often needed to remind my frequently busy mind.


On a personal note, I'm quite looking forward to my birthday on the 29th. It's a bit of a grim event: The moment of my birth against the city of the undead. Poetic, really. A lifetime dedicated to improving and curing Malton...and I think I'm doing a pretty damn good job so far.

April 2006

April 17, 2006

It's been far too long since I had a chance to stop and take a breath, to pause and reflect upon Malton. In truth, I've spent many of the past few weeks unable to take in any sort of breath at all...the dreams of undeath have become a frequent rite with me.


Should I fear the fact that death has no longer become an annoyance, that the horrific dreams I dream in a zombie state most foul no longer torment me? Perhaps. But I would be lying if I said they did not disturb me at all. When I rest (or collapse from raw exhaustion as it seems more to be the case these days) I still see fragmented images behind my eyes...images of rending claws and biting teeth, of the thrill of infection billowing from my slavering maw into the mewling flesh of the living. I see these images, and I tremble, for this is not dream but truth.


But now I tremble...and then move on. I am horrified...and continue my day. The recordings from my NecroNet uplink those months ago are no long a sign of damnation to me. They are simply the recordings of a poor diseased soul, one who was lost, like so many others. Someone who needed to be cured, like so many I must cure in Malton.


How did this happen? Has my heart grown cold to death? Have I accepted the cycle, and now drugingly move on in life...the zombie alive in body but dead in soul? Hardly. For the fact that I now LIVE again, freed from infection and undead taint, prove that there is more to life in Malton. The YRC has become a faith of sorts, for me. At the least, it is a foundation for my purpose and the strength that lets me accept my horrific acts as an undead fiend and still live with myself.


It is because I am not alone. How many others in Malton are horrified by their Memories of Life as a zombie...and how many more are trapped in that dream and screaming to wake up? The Yagoton Revivification Clinic is a beacon to these people. We are the largest revivification point in Malton, and people respect that far beyond Yagoton's borders.


People depend on us...and lately, they've been depending on me. While a few others have helped maintain the small NecroNet postings we share among one another, it has been mostly myself alone and those blessed few in Malton using our network. I miss Son of Uborkapete, his sheer presence and force of will. His leadership of the past makes my present state seem like a pale mockery...and yet I will try.


It was Flytrample himself who revivifed me last, and took me away from dream. I only remember his face, though I cannot recall his expression. Is he too still maddened, lost? Perhaps he has found kinship among The Abandoned, and wishes to undo the harm he has caused? I do not know. I miss him as well, his silent yet comforting strength.


But all is not sorrow. Even as a strange group of zombies with curious photosynthetic abnormalities attack Bale Mall, humor and kinship abound. The horrors of Disciples of Zeko pale in comparison to the kinship and laughter the good fellows of theChannel 4 News Team have brought to Yagoton. They came as one when they heard the so-called Shining Ones were coming, and brought with them a sense of brotherhood often not seen in Malton. That Ron Burgundy is a prince among princes.


I have rested too long. Someone has to remove the latest mispelled religious drivel of the Disciples of Zeko from the walls of St. Swithun's Church, and I doubt my co-workers have the time or the spraypaint.


Hmm. I have a birthday next month. I should ensure to post before then. My first birthday in Malton. How long it's been...perhaps I can snag some scotch from Ron to throw a party of sorts. Or a memorial service, if need be. Ha ha!


February 2006

February 24, 2006

No. I will not discuss the horrid remnants my NecroNet uplink recorded. God, the WEEKS I have spent! The horrors I must have...no. No, it is too soon. I have died far too many times. I MUST push these thoughts of death away. A bit hard to do when your very job title holds to necrosis itself.


Death. The death penalty. Frequency. I've been thinking about all of this ever since my fellows found me...wandering...near Bale Mall, and brought me back to life.


In the rest of the world, the death penalty is the ultimate punishment. The final fatalistic judgement humanity can put upon itself. But in Malton, death is meaningless. You die. You rise gain. You kill or are killed countless times, mindlessly. Then we NecroTech hopefulls bring you back to life again. And the cycle goes on.


Death has no hold here; thus, neither does fear. This is the thinking of Death cultists, murders, and the ghouls of Malton. And now it is the thinking of those who I once admired. Son of Uborkapete. Founder of the YRC.


He killed me. He sent me into dream again. Those horrible, horrible walking dreams!


Whats worse is that I think I understand why. I know. I could see it in his eyes, see it in the way he and Flytrample strode toward me in the dark. They have died and lived again far, far too many times. Frequent revivification, in the long term, has never been studied for its psychological effects.


I believe, now however, we have those results. Flytrample and Son of Uborkapete have changed, not simply in their minds, but in their views of their very being. They are the hollow men of Malton. They are the children of Eliot, now. "Those who have crossed/ With direct eyes,/ to death's other Kingdom."


I can't afford to become like them. I won't. The survivors of Malton depend on us to save them. To get this hell we have created. So I'll pray. Yes, a Scientist can have faith without hubris or scientific dogma. In Malton, they have to.


I will pray for our founders. Yes, they have become murders. They have become a threat. But I will not abandon them. I will not take hope from they. "Violent souls, but only / As the hollow men / The stuffed men." There has to be hope for them. For if there isn't...


...what hope is there for me?

February 1, 2006

-This entry seems to be garbled. A flashing link on the NecroNet file access reads: "Attempt Phoentic Translatiton"-

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h.n.znz-z!zbn.z?aah?n!aah,zbn!n.bgaah.n.znz-z!zbn.z?aaz-n!aaha-nzbzzn?bgaah.n.znz-z!zbn.z?aaz-n!bgbgbghm-bzzn?n.z!bg

g!nnzmn.aah.nnzmzmbgaahnaazhzzz--haazb-abgaahnaan!z--bn?za-aaan!z-z!aazb-abgaahnaan--bz!n.n,aan!z-z!aazb-abgaahnaan,zbn.n,aan!z-z!aazb-abg

g.zzn,aazzz--haahnaan!n.n.n,aaz-zzaazb-abgaahn-aaan!zbzmzmz?aazn-naaznz--b-azabgaahb-gn.z!-naaz?n-z!n.nnznaan,z!zb-gn.z?aaznn.bg

mmzan.aanzzmz-z-n,aazbz?aaz?-hn.n.-aghaa-azan.aanzzmz-z-n,aazbz?aannzmzmbgaahnaannznaannaazaz-zmzmz--haaznnnzzbg

mmzan.aaznzbzzn,aan-zmz--bn,z?bgaammzazbz?aazbz?aa-azan.aa-hnn-naa-azan.aa-hz-z!zmn,aan.zzn,z?baaa-azazbz?aazbz?aa-azan.aa-hnn-naa-azan.aa-hz-z!zmn,bgbgbg

-The file ends in the sounds of gunshots, and several zombie-like howls of anger-

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