RRF/Malton Herald & Sun/Text/Text1009right
It's me. The Ridleybank Resistance Front. My life hasn't been the same since you let those other little startup hordes move in to your ransacked buildings. I was angry when you opened Hildebrand's door to any zombie able to crawl. I was upset that I was no longer the only horde to graze your ruined, destroyed pastures. But I was wrong SSZ. I want you. And deep down in your heart, you know that you want me too. You know that we were meant to be together.
Take me back Survivor Security Zone. Please baby. I can change. It will be different this time, I promise. We can do all those things that you used to love to do: the long, romantic walks along the endless revive queue lines. Candlelight dinners on top of the remains of Tynte Mall: You, in your flowing black duster with the matching camouflage ammo belts. And me, in my tattered, blood-stained clothes, holding a bottle of Pinot Gris with one hand, and your jugular with the other. The way love should be. The way we used to be.
All I ask for is one more chance baby. One more time to show you that I have changed. Come on baby. I am a different horde now. I have grown. I have matured. I am tired of running around Malton, eating my way from one suburb to another. That isn't love. I want to settle down. I want to be with you baby. With you and you alone.
You remember the good times, don't you Survivor Security Zone? God, we were so hot together. Do you remember when I used to raze your outer police stations before moving into your inner Mall core? Remember when I took Hildebrand down overnight this past summer? Yeah you do you little minx. Man those were good times. We used to be so great together.
And you want to throw it all away? Like nothing happened? Like we didn't happen? Well fine. Go. I don't need you anymore. I never did. You are dead to me. Hear that SSZ? DEAD. Besides. I found someone else. Want to know who I am with now? North Blythville. And guess what? They are a much better lover than you could ever hope to be.
Oh God. I am so sorry Survivor Security Zone. I am drunk. I didn't mean it baby. God I didn't mean it. Please forgive me. Please just take me back. Please. It will be better this time. I promise.
Just me, you, and a bunch of empty, ruined buildings.
Love, Ridleybank Resistance Front
by dongs, 2nd grader at Billings Lane Zombie School
Editor's Note: Occasionally, we receive essays from students attending the primary schools in Ridleybank. Here is one such essay from a youngster who took some time from their busy schedule of reading, writing, and disemboweling survivor honor roll students to tell us about their summer vacation:
This summer was very fun. I will tell you about a trip I took. The (slightly) older zombies in the Praetorian Guard said that we would stay in Ridleybank and eat humans while the rest of the Horde ran around Malton eating less brave humans. It seemed like they would have all the fun. I was sad*. But I believe that the RRF is 1/3 Ridleybank. It is important to eat humans there. So I stayed. But then there were almost no humans in Ridleybank. Far Traveller, Kittentits, 707, and Wisuguya always eat them first because they do a good job and I usually hunt at 3am. I got hungry. I remembered that there were always humans in Stanbury Village.
So when the other Praets weren't looking, I went to Stanbury Village. It was not far. I went where there were some other zombies, but all of the buildings were at EHB and my remaining brain cells have ADD. So I went back to Ridleybank. It was still ruined. We do a good job.
So I went to Roachtown and there were some barricades. Me and some ferals took down the cades, but there were no humans. So I went back to Ridleybank. Still ruined. We do a very good job.
So I went to Pimbank and it was the same thing: barricades and no humans. I thought, "Gosh, these pussy-ass cade-strafing motherfuckers must be so bored of jacking off their shotgun muzzles in their shit-strewn malls that they have nothing better to do than roll through here with a toolbox and make our UD experience about as exciting as getting a blow job from Terri Schaivo."
So I went to Barrville. There were humans! There was a guy in a hospital who was still alive. I checked. Delicious. He was wearing a jacket. It said "Malton Fire Department" on it. I thought he was lonely because he didn't have three friends from other DEM branches to keep him company. So I gave him a hug. Actually, I gave him about 19 hugs. Then he died. So I ate him. It tasted very much like every other DEM human I've eaten.
After this, I was very full and satisfied. So I went back to Ridleybank to continue the glorious labor of keeping Ridleybank for zombies. Now I am back in zombie school and I am writing this essay for you, Mr. Zombie.
The End.
Marvin Mall
You: Tall ,dark, and thin, your unkept black hair covering up a network of battlescars that could only come from a lifetime of service at the Malton Quick-e-Mart. You were wearing a beige overcoat on top of a black duster on top of a set of urban military encounter armor on top of a bulletproof vest on top of a white t-shirt covered by grape Tast-E-Freeze.
Me: Missing right arm, crushed skullcap, and torn clothes, eviscerated organs trailing behind me, my claws pressed against a old woman's head.
You blew away a zombie child with a shotgun, looked in my direction, and then screamed that shooting me would somehow erase the miasma and darkness rotting your soul. I felt a spark then, a small feeling, a romantic connection that could only be satisfied by gutting your abdomen and tearing open your brain. We gazed into each other's eyes, I blew you a gentle kiss, and then you called in the airstrike. As the bombs fell around me, I never imagined that I would meet such a tender, caring lover.
Call me.
Let's reconnect.
Sexy.
St. Luke's Hospital
You: Red, plaid shirt, tight jeans. You were with a group of friends, listening to some music as we broke through the lightly-barricaded front door. I would have slipped you my card, but I thought it would be rude to interrupt as the horde surrounded your friends and began to dismember them. You had such beautiful eyes and soft skin.
Please.
If you get this and have managed to stop the internal bleeding, then call me.
I still have your arm.
by Draughr
A Spanish judge has issued a warrant for former RRF papa Lord Moloch’s arrest this week, claiming universal jurisdiction. Judges in Spain have been using the precedent of universal jurisdiction go after international criminals for years now, and Lord Moloch has been targeted most recently. He has been charged with war crimes, crimes against harmanity, attempted genocide, terrorism, conspiracy to eradicate all vestiges of harman culture and life, and jaywalking. Reports on his treatment of the Gore Corps as are just now beginning to be investigated, but rumors of sexualized punishment and drugs as rewards have the courts concerned. When asked what his name was and how he got any of this information through the quarantine, the Spanish judge threw down a tiny object which caused a bright flash followed by thick smoke. The judge had disappeared.
by Draughr
Thank you, harmanz, for your contribution to the zambah cause. Thank you for being (still here) after hitting me with an axe again... and again... and again... and again... and again. Thank you for making a babah mistake at level 15. Thank you for wasting your AP on failing to kill me, being a fresh meal for when I wake up, and then wasting your AP trying to kill me with your underdeveloped claws. Perhaps most of all, thank you for further clogging the revive point where you were XP farming.
