It’s been 67 days since the lights went out in Malton.
No final siren. No evacuation. No closing scene. Just… silence.

I keep thinking I’ll log in out of habit—just to peek into Whittenside and check if the old building’s still barricaded, or if that one generator I set up is humming peacefully behind a stack of cades. But of course, it’s gone. Urban Dead is gone. And while the servers may be silent, the city still lingers in my memory like fog at the edge of consciousness.

I’ve been spending a little time in All Out of Hell—a different kind of undead survival, with more gas, more gunfire, and fewer revive queues. It’s gritty, intense, and great in short bursts. But I’ll be honest. I’ve only been playing a couple of days a week. The rhythm isn’t the same. I miss the asynchronous dance of Urban Dead—the slow tension of a building slowly falling, the quiet teamwork in shadowy corners, the heartbreak of a revive needle coming seconds too late.

And more than anything, I miss traveling Malton.

Earletown was where I first found my feet—half-dead, half-lost, half-hoping someone would notice me behind a closed Acourt Arms door. It wasn’t the safest part of the city, but it was mine.

Wilkes Hill was where I got bold. We ran ops out of resource buildings and laughed in the at the rotter revive point and hanging at the Cosway Hotel in the fuzzy bathrobe.

And Whittenside—my beloved Whittenside—was the quiet hum of habit. I knew every lane, every hospital, every corner of Fort Perryn by heart. If I ever had a home in Malton, it was there.

Urban Dead rewarded consistency, patience, creativity. You could log in on your lunch break, revive a friend, tag a wall, and feel like you did something. There was poetry in the pacing.

And now? It’s quiet. But still, I remember. And I’m not alone.

We were survivors, all of us human and zombie alike. And while the map may be frozen, the stories we made there still move. I carry them with me, stitched between the pixels of new games and whispered in the corners of Discord chats.

So here’s to Malton.
To NecroTech and empty museums.
To sleeping in the library with strangers.
To flares over Fort Perryn.
To revives that felt like second chances in more ways than one.

And to every player who kept logging in, long after the rest of the world forgot we were still fighting the good fight.

Urban Dead is gone. But I’m still here and can visit the Urban Dead Wiki on the Wayback Machine.