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<center><font size=5>Wanda...Baby...our little girl is gone...</font></center>
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'''''Editor's Note: Occasionally, we accept unsolicited manuscripts from enterprising, young writers. This is a short article we received shortly after Blackmore 4(04). For more information, head over to either [[Blackmore 4(04)|Blackmore 4(04) for a factual version]] and/or [[RRF/Malton Herald & Sun/Black404ZPOV‎|here for our version.]] 

by
Bob Boberton
303 Commander

Wanda,

My loving wife. It is like a horrible nightmare. Every day and every night I still see our daughter’s face. You do remember, don’t you my dear? It seems like just yesterday that we were watching our little Becky play on the swingset. I still remember glancing over at you, watching you smile and laugh as Becky climbed down the swingset to pick up her favorite stuffed polar bear. Our sweet, little girl. It would break your heart to see her last Tuesday. Screaming and crying as I dragged her toward the front door of Blackmore to trade her for a single generator. A single generator. No parent should ever have to receive so little in trade. 

I never thought this day would come.  I still remember the day you told me you were pregnant. I remember your face as we talked about Becky’s future, our future. We walked through her life together. Her first birthday. Her first words. Her first day at school. Her first kiss. The crates of DNA extractors and crowbars we would get after shipping her off to New Arkham on her tenth birthday. But those dreams are gone now, my love. Instead, I am left here with nothing to remember her, except this generator. One lousy generator that will be probably be destroyed within the hour. These truly are dark times we live in. 

No father should have to go through what I just went through, Wanda. The pain. The complete humiliation of settling for less than ten shotguns and two generators for their eleven-year old. I still remember the other 303er’s laughing at me when I returned to Blackmore, receiving so little for someone, who, at one time, held so much promise.

I should have done more when we were raising her. I should have seen this coming. Why did I not see the warning signs? If I was a better father, I would have crated her and left her in Wyke Hills until the market got better. God knows my father would have done the same for me. But now she is gone, Wanda, destined to spend the rest of her life in shackles in a Ridleybank Harmanz Processing camp.  It was her time to go I guess. She knew it, I knew it, and the zombies knew it. I just wished we got have gotten more for her. 

Wanda, you shouldn't have to suffer for my mistakes. I know we haven’t talked much since I left your mother to die at Nichols. I am sorry baby, I really am. You and I both know that traveling with less than 40 FAKs is tantamount to suicide.  We couldn’t spare even one. I really am I sorry. I was hoping to get a flak jacket for that old hag.

But you have to forgive me and we need to move on. I need you Wanda. I need you to help me get through the pain and the suffering. Please, come back to me baby. If not for me, then do it in loving memory of our daughter. And, Wanda, when you come, be sure to bring our son Jake, and his friends Ernie and Jackie. I am still hoping to get that tenth fire axe.

Love Always,

Bob

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<center><font size=5>Meet a Ridley: Bobby the Hatchet</font></center>
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As a part of new feature in the MH&S, we will be interrupting the murder sprees of everyday RRF members to interview them, so that you, the good people of Malton, can learn a bit more about the people slaughtering you in your sleep. This past week, we had the pleasure of sitting down with Bobby the Hatchet, dedicated Ridley and Gore Corps devivification expert.

'''''MHS: So how did you come to join the Ridleybank Resistance Front? Did you know members in the RRF before? Or did you just get really drunk one night, and five states and two weddings later, you had somehow managed in your drunken stupor to sign up on Barhah.com?'''''

'''BH:''' As a fairly new player, after witnessing the raw power of a somewhat coordinated strike involving the Ridleybank Resistance Front and ferals, I laid dead in the street thinking to myself, “I want that.” I decided to join almost instantly. I was amazed to find such a coordinated effort tucked away beneath the clawing and growling of the streets. Serving Ridleybank seemed to be an obligatory part of the Urban Dead experience, and I’ve never looked back. I started out as a bahbah eating with Team America and my axe-murdering ways ultimately led me to the Gore Corps. The heavy drinking and vulgar displays of bad judgment actually came after I was locked in.

[[Image:Rrfposter14.jpg|center|250px]]

'''''MHS:Some of our readers have learned the hard way that combat reviving a Gore Corps member is one of the quickest ways to meet some of the more interesting members of the gun family. Have you meet any interesting harmanz who have revived you...and then thanked them with the loving gesture of a shotgun double tap?'''''

'''BH:''' All the time. I generally try to target all who revive or heal me, in keeping with tradition. Combat Revives on Death Cultists are especially pleasant, because it allows us to demonstrate our true nature, almost immediately. Nothing makes me giggle like being Combat Revived during a live attack and then returning under a hail of gunfire to put an axe in their guts. When we dishonour the needle, we dishonour life, and it shows survivors that their own ignorance can be just as dangerous to them as our claws.

'''''MHS:What do you enjoy the most about Urban Dead? I mean, besides slaughtering harmanz?'''''

'''BH:The meta-gaming community, especially within Barhah, has been great. I find that this bizarre little game-that-should-not-be attracts all sorts of people from various walks of life, united towards a common goal, with plenty of hilarity in between. When one gets involved in the human element here, it totally enhances the game. It’s really the only way to play. Also, the low-impact time constraint prevents me from being ridiculed as a nerd by my peers.'''

'''''MHS:What do you enjoy the most about being in the RRF and in the Gore Corps? What is your role in the Gore Corps?'''''

'''BH:''' I enjoy being in the Ridleybank Resistance Front because it is a significant part of Malton’s history. Ridleybank is the heart of the city, and its roots run pretty deep. It’s a massive group full of veteran players and it brings in a constant influx of new faces. The group takes responsibility for legit play and there’s seldom any groundbreaking drama, which is great considering how widespread everyone is. As a member of the Gore Corps, I get to experience Death Culting at its finest, prowling the ruins as our brothers and sisters close in around us. There is nothing greater than logging on and finding myself on the street, eaten and Death-Rattled at by a fellow Ridley. We must know our place and respect the horde, and it is an honor that we have been able to serve as long as we have. Regarding my role in the Gore Corps, I must remain vague, as we are a bit secretive with our sadism. I will admit that I am nothing more than a mild-mannered henchman taken under their tattered wing.

'''''MHS: Now, some heretics-- we will call them “Mrh cows” – claim that being a survivor takes more than knowing a simple set of skills. Surviving--they say--takes hard work, a dedication to watching a barricade level drop slowly from EHB to VHB, and a commitment to acting selflessly, and not hoarding all thirty of your FAK kits. So...when you are revived...is it really as painful as I have been told to see the world as a survivor sees it?'''''

'''BH:''' Survival sheerly for the sake of survival, takes almost no work at all. It is a futile endeavour that we have all instinctively faced at one time or another. Any “Mrh Cow” can hole himself away in an early grave of boards and light. The true labor comes with learning how to break free of those confines and truly live, walking the earth unafraid. When I am revived, it does indeed pain me to see survivors locked inside, quarrelling over sticks and stones. These days are a cause for celebration, yet they fail to embrace it, sharing their misery with the rest of us. Fortunately, when I am saddened I tend to cry double-ought tears of lead, so my revival is really more painful for them than it is for me.

'''''MHS:What has been your most memorable moment in UD so far?'''''

'''BH:'''I believe the most memorable moment so far was being involved in Excursion IV. I was just coming back from hiatus, linked up with the Gore Corps, and it was the first time in Urban Dead that I was able to really witness the full power of the Ridleybank Resistance Front on such a massive scale. Our strike teams were always dangerously close and when Death Culting I often found myself barely making it out of buildings alive as we scorched a path of death and destruction across Malton.

'''''MHS: Some say that the harman is the most dangerous game, skillful at evading a pursuit, and lethal when cornered. What do you think? Any memorable battles / encounters with the most dangerous game / easiest meal?'''''

'''BH:'''I believe the most dangerous game is the harman that we seldom see; those who stray from the beaten path, nomads lurking in ruin, rebuilding the framework of humanity. These select few have evolved with the times, they will be the last of the dying breed, and when it comes time to confront them in the final battle, perhaps centuries from now, there is no telling what they will be capable of.

'''''MHS:Now for something more serious...is it true what they say about Lord Moloch?'''''

'''BH:''' Yes. He is a fine leader and a gentleman and after serving in two groups under the man I would certainly be severely uncomfortable allowing my children near him.

'''''MHS:For my final question, let's pretend that you are the last living member of the Gore Corps in a world taken over by zombies. You come across a small child, and she starts smiling at you. So...shotgun, pistol, knife or claw?'''''

'''BH:''' I would do the honorable thing, axe down the cades, jump to my death and feeding drag her into the street. Victory would be shared; the last drop of survivor blood belongs to the horde.

'''''MHS:Well, we would like to thank Bobby for taking the time to answer some of our questions, and we'll leave our dears readers in Malton with this loving thought: It's 10PM, the kids are tucked in, and the power just went out...are you sure your door is locked?'''''