Thanks for playing Twin Cities!

A huge thank you to everyone who played Zedtown: Twin Cities!

Twin Cities was our first game at Macquarie University. 600 players took over the campus and after six hours only five survived. We can’t wait to come back.

As always, we saw lots of players with cameras and GoPros running around on the day – if you’ve taken any footage, we’d love to see it and put it here. Contact us (you can also share galleries to our Facebook page) and show us what you got!

If you’re keen to test your survival skills one more time, keep an eye on our Facebook page where we’ll be announcing more games very soon.

In the meantime, have feedback from the day and suggestions for Zedtown? We’d love to hear them. Fill in our feedback form below.

See you soon!



If you have any photos you would like to share, let us know.

Thanks for playing Outbreak Melbourne!

A huge thank you to everyone who played Zedtown: Outbreak Melbourne!

This was our first game in Melbourne and with 250 players taking control of the University of Melbourne I’m sure we’ll be back next year.

We saw lots of players with cameras and GoPros running around on the day – if you’ve taken any footage, we’d love to see it and put it here. Contact us (you can also share galleries to our Facebook page) and show us what you got!

If you’re keen to test your survival skills one more time in a brand-new environment, don’t forget we have another Melbourne game on April 9 at Monash University Clayton. ZEDTOWN: THE DEADLANDS will be played across our largest game map ever so gear up and get ready! You can buy tickets at Eventbrite.

In the meantime, have feedback and suggestions for Zedtown: Outbreak Melbourne? We’d love to hear them. Fill in our feedback form below.

See you soon!


Thanks for playing Outbreak Sydney!

Zedtown: Outbreak Sydney game stats

A huge thank you to everyone who played Zedtown: Outbreak Sydney!

This was our biggest game yet with over 700 players taking control of Sydney Showground for Zedtown: Outbreak Sydney. Over five and a half hours the survivors battled with sinister government agents, rogue revolutionaries and the living dead with just 11 survivors making it to the evac zone and safety.

We saw lots of players with cameras and GoPros running around on the day – if you’ve taken any footage, we’d love to see it and put it here. Contact us (you can also share galleries to our Facebook page) and show us what you got!

We will be announcing more Zedtown games for 2016 so keep an eye on our site and like us on Facebook to find out what other madness we have in store.

In the meantime, have feedback and suggestions for Zedtown: Outbreak Sydney? We’d love to hear them.

See you soon!



If you have any photos or videos you would like to share, let us know.

A player’s perspective


Zedtown at Sydney Uni is over for another year and the war stories are already beginning to circulate. Kieran Boyd won his tickets to the Wasteland while attending Dragon Friends. Hear his account of the madness below…

It was a hot day for a zombie invasion. The heat bore down upon us like a disease, growing slowly and then simmering amongst us, sweltering with an unwelcome intensity. That said, I couldn’t say what made me sweat more – the intense temperature, or the fear of impending doom in this deathly wasteland.

Some of us were dressed in bizarre attires, indicators of previous professions and lives. Here a man in hospital scrubs, now torn and certainly de-sterilised. There a group of gymnasts, stretching in the early afternoon sun, preparing for the chase. There were obvious military types with uniforms and berets, mechanics covered in oil, scavengers in scraps and colourful costumes. I even spotted a man dressed as Santa Claus, a sad symbol of hope and joy from a world long lost – perhaps he had already fallen to the madness. But then again, there were many dressed in unassuming clothing, commoners, everyday people who had banded together in desperation.

And almost everyone bore arms, brightly-coloured weaponry for protection, or perhaps offence. From whence these guns had been sourced, I cannot say. I myself had scavenged a nearby shopping centre mere days beforehand, desperately seeking some kind of defence. Gun laws had once kept our land peaceful, but now, with these outbreaks, a couple of pistols and a bandolier of socks were all that stood between you and them, the diseased.

We fell together as a team, a caucus, a faction of survivors. The Water Eaters, we were called. Considering my measly supply of liquids in my backpack, I couldn’t help but chuckle internally. But this group were no laughing manner. There was a clear structure here – we were governed, or guided rather, by a trio of beauties. Sisters apparently, named ‘the Furies’, each with eyes of white and flowing dresses that were reminiscent of the waters that they worshipped. They spoke to us proudly of our plight, and outlined our mission. Go forth, they called, seek out fuel to replenish the shield that protected our stronghold from invaders. Work together, they said, and identifying your fellow water-loving comrades with a secret hand sign. I found myself in an impromptu group of misfits yielding from afar, who had travelled down the coast following a promise of safety and to seek refuge.

The Wasteland: A Player's PerspectiveThe Furies (photo by: Jeremy Yao)

Just as we were beginning to feel hope, the Furies told us that already one amongst us had been infected, a traitor in our midst. Immediately our new-found friends became suspicious, but there was no time to deliberate – already the faction was dispersing, sprawling from our central area even as our cries of unity rang out against the nearby buildings. We picked a path and ran blindly.

The chase had begun.

At first, we wandered almost directionless through the area. We knew the general layout of the area that had been sanctioned by the authorities, but were unsure of the locations of the other bases and, more urgently, where we might find that precious fuel. Sometimes it felt like the only people looking out for us, the only source of direction in this wasteland, were those brave men broadcasting news and updates on the radio. I could see people huddled around their receivers, or with permanent headphones, listening out for reports of fresh supplies or nearby activities.

The day became a blur of events that all intermingle.

I was careless, this I confess. Too many times I was brash, and turned a corner with a confidence that would have seen me taken, were it not for my trigger-happy fingers and my trusty pistols. The liked to lurk behind walls, hiding and waiting until a hapless survivor (such as myself) happened to pass their position, and then jump out. I saw one fellow Water Eater converted that way, the look of terror and defeat in his eyes as he was devoured, and we knew for sure his gruesome fate.

A truce was quickly called between the Water Eaters and the Golden Sands, as the beautiful Furies and the glorious golden leaders sought allegiance and unity. The ‘Beach’ Alliance, I heard one yellow-coloured survivor say, and I laughed at this jot of humour in an otherwise tragic day. Once word of this political advancement became known, passed from group to group, it became a relief as a Water Eater to be able to fall in with these yellow-costumed folk, sharing advice and updates without fear.

And yet this pairing of factions seemed to further encourage a fear and even hate for the menacing Red Raiders. We had discovered their base of operations earlier, defended by a line of fearsome female warriors. Now, a group of representatives from the Golden Sands had made their way over in the enemy’s grounds to seek a peace treaty of some sort. I witnessed this meeting from beyond the range of fire, and just as well. Although I could not hear all that was said, I could sense the tension and unease. The fearsome red Damascus X (whose frightful appearance had turned even his hair white) had concluded the negotiations when the red lieutenant shouted “Fire!” and suddenly all formalities were lost. I saw humans turn on humans, darts and the clicking of rifles filling the air as red and yellow representatives fell to their knees. I could only spare a second to mourn the sad state of affairs before rushing forward to restock on darts.

One of the most peculiar encounters of the day occurred a few hours into the afternoon. I was scouting with my reliable crew of Water Eaters, the mighty Dirty Birds, when we followed a pathway into a small courtyard. There, incredibly intact and functioning despite the danger just beyond the surrounding walls, was a bar manned by two burly proprietors. We were relieved as we approached the Wombat’s bar to receive shouts of salutation and offers of refreshing beverages in exchange for news from the outside world. We praised the barkeeps, these stalwart heroes for their unexpected but very welcome service. What I would do now to return there, to that concrete oasis, where I might find refuge and seek rest.

We made sure to check in at the Water Eaters base when we were able, to share stories and warnings with our watery brethren, and to ensure that our stronghold was kept safe. One particular time, I was scouting out the area around the base when I managed to spy a whole horde of zombies at the top of some stairs, lying in wait to descend upon our humble home. I fired two shots into the mass of undead, hitting one of them, and they seemed to retreat, before finding courage again and swarming down the steps towards me. I reloaded and fired a couple more rounds into the group, but knew I needed to get away. Just as I began to move left, a single zombie appeared from the brush, face dripping with molten skin and oozing from green gashes, and gnarled arms held aloft in an attempt to grab at me. I lurched sidewards, arcing to avoid its grasp, and then stumbled blindly towards my fellow Water Eaters. “Zombies!” I cried, and thus alerted to the approaching horde my ever-reliable blue allies turned and dealt a punishing blow to this mob of shambling walkers, who were pushed back and away from our precious base.

These zombies were smarter than normal. I’ve encountered the undead before, from my experiences further afield. Most of these monsters are unshakeable and fearless in their attacks, launching blindly towards their prey without any thought of the consequences. But these zombies were more tactful – they moved in packs and seemed to be able to communicate with each other. Often time, I found that moving in a group of my own was sufficient to prevent attacks. We, the survivors, might not have outnumbered our undead aggressors, but both sides recognised the risks and often no casualties were witnessed. It was a queer sight, these bloodless skirmishes that were more like chess manoeuvres than the kinds of thoughtless clashes I’d seen before.

But not all zombies were so easily deterred. Such encounters relied on the vulnerabilities of both humans and zombies, but as I learned eventually, this wasn’t always the case. I heard from friends and passers-by of the results of some horrible mutation – Witches. The reports of these apparently unkillable creatures were varied. “Witches can’t be killed!” “Witches won’t attack you if you’re quiet! Shhh!” To be honest, I didn’t want to wait around to find out. Whenever I heard their terrible shrieks, I joined the masses of the living as we fled these mystical creatures of death.

And there was another zombie that was particularly notable. I had seen him at the beginning of the day, a stocky fellow, dressed in a simple grey shirt and sporting a standard rifle. But these mundane features were secondary to the much more obvious speaker strapped to his back, blaring tunes for all the world to hear. Poor man, I thought, he won’t hide for long. And so it was, that before long I saw him converted, his face a grisly texture, but still blasting tunes. The Doof Warrior, they called him, the most menacing of these Witches, his rambling figure with his musical payload. His music brought dread to the ears and hearts of all survivors.

The Wasteland: A Player's PerspectiveThe Doof Zombie (photo by: Jeremy Yao)

There were others in the middle of this chaos, humans that were aligned to no faction, and instead followed their own agendas. Notably, I was among many survivors to encounter a crazed man who called himself King Baby. Wearing only diapers for clothing and as headwear, he was all but naked, relying on only his good humour for protection. He challenged all that looked upon him to a test of strength, vowing to distribute a prize to any that bested him. He was undoubtedly a scrawny fellow, a single bouncing boy of a man, and it is beyond my comprehension why he would set such a physical challenge, or how he had come to be here in the wasteland. Yet, true to his warbling words, the King is kind, and he rewarded those that grappled his wiry frame to the ground, and then moved on, a bubble of curious joy passing through the fray.

More curious still were the members of the mysterious Corporation. I found a pair of agents sheltered in the shade of a building, and they called me over. In strangely British accents they told me of a hidden stash of fuel that they were willing to share, with the proviso that they be escorted to this secret spot. Eager to strengthen our stronghold’s shield, I quickly attracted the attention of some nearby Water Eaters, calling them to aid this mission with our private hand signal. Soon our group had grown to ten, almost a dozen wary warriors flanking these Corporation types as we moved towards the promised bounty. Around a building we moved, and then more dangerously down a narrow alleyway, on high alert now in case a zombie ambush were to befall us. Around the final corner, and I see two survivors there, hiding against a wall. They look back at our group, fear in their eyes, and shush us quickly, but it is too late. The horrible sound of the Doof Warrior blared to life not 10 metres from us, and suddenly it was fight or flight. I chose the former, darting forwards despite the danger ahead, and scooped up the two fuel rods laying on the floor. I turned back to request cover, but already my group had disbanded, terrified of the Witch’s immortality and power. I joined the agents as we raced back down the alleyway to relative safety, my treasure clasped in my hands. As we stopped to recover, I went to pass one of the fuel rods to the Corporation member, as per the agreement, but he declined the offer. “There’ll be more,” he said, “you need them more than we do. Good work.” And so I scampered away to return the loot to my base, alert and panting heavily but still alive.

But the opportunity for such bravado soon passed. I heard tales that, despite my best efforts and those of my fellow watery fighters, that the Water Eater base had fallen, and our proud leaders now turned to Witches. Homeless, I drifted between groups, seeking friendship and providing assistance with whomever I encountered. The times for tactical missions and political in-fighting were over, and now it was simply survival for all. I lost contact with the Dirty Birds, and shamefully do not know of their fate. I pray that they too have not been converted. I am all alone now, hiding and writing and waiting for this horror to all be over.

These are my last words, a testament to the efforts made today. We have banded together, we last few survivors. The divisions between factions fell as we became a single force, simply humans versus zombies. This is what has stuck with me the most – the moments of trust and friendship demonstrated over these last few hours. Even in the face of adversity, with horde after horde of undead pouring down the hill upon us, I have witnessed many a time humans supporting each other, rallying against these monsters.

But alas, I fear my time is almost come. My hiding location is a crude option, I admit, but we all know that saying about begging and choosing. It won’t be long now until they find me, hidden away like a coward, clinging to these final moments. I wonder if it will hurt, whether I will scream as I have seen others done, as the zombies bore down upon my fellow survivors.

My only hope is that there might be a few of us humans who might survive the day, and that they are evacuated safely.

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A player’s perspective


So this year, on Saturday the 11th of October, I once again made the trip to Zedtown: where a section of Sydney University was converted into a pseudo world on the brink of collapse, following a virus outbreak which marks the beginning of the zombie apocalypse. Armed with Nerf guns, balled up socks and a healthy dose of fear and anxiety, we are thrust out into Zedtown, where the government has abandoned us, everyone looks like an enemy and ultimately, we are all merely prolonging the inevitable. Some unfortunate folk had already been infected – called Original Zombies, or OZs, and they were hidden among us, waiting for the opportune moment to reveal themselves, infect others and begin humanity’s slippery slope down into zombieland.

This was my third time stepping foot in Zedtown, so I’ve been a player since it’s inception. It’s the largest game of it’s kind in Australia, and quite frankly, once a year just ain’t enough! What could possibly NOT be fun about a bunch of adults running around in silly costumes, shooting foam darts and throwing socks at each other?

The game essentially boils down to a giant game of tag. Everyone starts out as survivors, with a few OZs among us. Once you are firmly tapped on the body or on your gear by a zombie, you convert into a zombie. Yay! Survivors can stun incoming zombies with their nerf guns, and also with balled up socks. Throughout the game, there are also NPCs – Non-Playable Characters, who are allowed to spread info but do not partake in the game. Some will offer missions, which will grant survivors things like information about the OZs, and funnily enough this year, lamington cake. Additionally, there are super crazy ‘boss’ zombies – zombies which have special powers or immunity to things. Like the witch. The….the witch. That makes my spine tingle. Rumors spread about her being unable to run, or that she could be stunned by socks. All. Lies. She runs, she screams, she’s invincible and this year, she had a posse of zombies armed with GUNS, THAT COULD STUN YOU. Just, just run. Freaking, run.

I personally love how immersive the game is. There’s a dedicated radio station on the day, spreading intel, rumors, outright lies and keeping everyone on their toes. Social media was similarly used to communicate, and if you encountered a stranger with tidbits of info – you politely, but firmly, tell them to stay at a distance as you converse. The witch scared the living daylights out of every single survivor by a simple scream, the most terrifying scream of all the land…..with ‘boss’ zombies kindly revealing to you they are invincible coming a close second. There were moments throughout the day, where genuine fear was a factor in my survival. I had allowed myself to get so into the game that I trusted no-one, and the sound of zombies proclaiming ‘ONE OF US’ made my adrenaline pump faster.

This year, I landed myself a new record. I survived the longest I had ever in the game – 20mins until evacuation. The game began this year at 4pm, and evacuation was at 9:30. Considering previous years it took only a mere hour or so, that was pretty damned good. So I think I might have some handy tips on how to go about surviving in Zedtown, and the game in general:


Seriously, absolutely no-one. Except for your group mates, as long as they ticked the ‘Not OZ’ box when buying their tickets. Last year, we were swiftly and quietly picked off by the OZ, simply because we let our guard down and allowed him within tagging distance. Since not all OZs are revealed at the same time, no-one knows who is being real, who is being deceptive and everyone will do well if they stay a tangible distance away from you and your group. I took this mentality with me all the way….I was eventually separated from my group, and even when they called asking where I was, I was wary about giving away my position. Hearing the sounds of my zombified friends saying they were coming for me as I ran like hell with a bunch of stranger-survivors was one of the creepiest things ever.

You probably don’t need that much ammo

I got through as long as I did with only a 25 dart barrel – and I only reloaded once. Though of course, this is dependent on your play style. Mine was very much run, run like bloody hell this year. So I had no real use for my gun until the final hurrah, where I was finally zombified. If you’re an avid zombie hunter, or plan on fortifying an area (which will inevitably attract the Horde) then ok, darts, all of the darts. Realistically though, if you’re a scaredy like me, you won’t need or use that much ammo.

Keep moving

I can see the benefit of combining groups of a tangible size, finding a spot and fortifying for the entire night. There can definitely be safety in numbers, but with the existence of boss and invincible zombies, you’d just become an easy target. Keep on your toes, and get ready to run. Fast.

On that note, pack light

You don’t want to weigh yourself down packing way too much. Some muesli bars, a small bottle of water and some space for extra clips of ammo should be sufficient. A bogan-esque bum bag is amazing for this. I bought a relatively cheap one from Paddy’s Market and haven’t gone back.

Find a spot to hide out for a while

I spent a good 30mins or so with a couple of other team mates hiding behind bushes, and we were never spotted. I daresay we could have stayed there for the rest of the night until evacuation if it weren’t for us getting restless sitting in the dirt in such a cramped space. Whilst hiding, the witch and the horde came by. Twice. And we remained unnoticed. One of the most tense moments of the game.

Don’t be a fool. Welcome the change.

With 500 players this year, the chance of survival are so very very slim. And even if one manages to survive until evacuation has been announced, there’s the perilous journey running towards the evacuation point, which will be swamped with zombies, guaranteed. To be completely honest, by the time I was separated from the rest of my original team mates and there was very little time left until evacuation, I was dead tired. GEDDIT? I welcomed becoming a zombie.

The game doesn’t end when you’ve been tagged!

You become a hungry hungry hippo! Wait….Zombie! A hungry hungry zombie, yay! I ran with renewed vigor after dumping my guns, and donning the green headband as a zombie. Go scare the heebie jeebies out of people and eat some humans! Nomnomnom. I missed out on noms since I died so late in the game, but next time…

Have fun

We’re a bunch of adults playing with toy guns and fake blood that tastes like chocolate. Chill.

Thank you to the Zedtown team – I have loved every game I ever played. I’m already planning a costume for next year. And considering bringing a GoPro….


This post originally appeared on Yvonne Lui’s blog

Thanks for playing Darkness Falls!

A huge thank you to everyone who played Zedtown: Darkness Falls!

This was our biggest game yet with over 500 players taking control of Campus, setting up forts, escorting VIPs, searching for clues and trying to find ways to beat the zombie horde and escape Zedtown. The game ended with a Zombie victory at 9:30PM, but the Survivors hung on until the last moments – their best showing yet!

We saw lots of players with cameras and GoPros running around on the day – if you’ve taken any footage, we’d love to see it and put it here. Contact us (you can also share galleries to our Facebook page) and show us what you got!

We will be announcing more Zedtown games for 2015 – zombie related and otherwise – so keep an eye on our site and like us on facebook to find out what other mega game madness we have in store.

See you soon!



If you have any photos you would like to share, let us know.

The Legend of El Diablo

The legend of El Diablo

Before the war, he was called Patrico Sorentino. But after the initial skirmishes against the zombie hordes, other survivors began to call him El Diablo, an all-singing, all-dancing madman with a gun. His notoriety served him well; as he made his way through the shattered remains of Sydney University with his rag-tag team of survivors (the Last Man from Penrith, the Judge & Miles Thomas), other groups would allow him to pass unhindered through their forts.

“El Diablo!” called the CO of Fort Solitude. “How goes it?”

“Well, my friend,” replied El Diablo, in an unspecified South American accent. “Have you seen any of los muertos vivientes… the undead?”

The CO looked grim. “We have. They’ve been making their way up and down Fisher Road.”

“So the OZ has been revealed, eh?”

“One of them, at least. Reports say that there are at least three, maybe more.”

“Three? Madre di Dios… I picked a helluva day to quit smoking,” said El Diablo, and everyone laughed at his great joke. “Good hunting, my friend.”

As El Diablo’s team passed by another fort, the Judge (the team’s comms op) grabbed his leader’s shoulder. “El Diablo, they’re saying that one of the OZs is a man who wears no shoes.”

Another survivor called down from the fort. “That’s right, he’s called Pat Morrow.”

Pat Morrow! El Diablo paused. Pat Morrow, aka Sergeant Grumps, was a member of the feared Team Discovery Channel, a squad of hard-bitten, no-nonsense soldiers led by Cap’n Cool – El Diablo’s younger brother.

“There must be some mistake,” replied El Diablo. “I know Pat Morrow, I shared a meal with him. There is no way that he can be… one of them.”

“It’s true,” said the survivor. “They released a picture.”

“Show me,” commanded El Diablo, and bounded up the stairs into the fort.

“Hey, hey,” said the survivor, raising his gun. “How do we know you’re clean, El Diablo?”

“Do not be stupid, man, I am El Diablo. Show me the picture.”

Slowly, warily, the survivor held out a photograph. El Diablo’s pulse quickened, and prickles of anxiety formed on the back of his neck; staring back at him were the unmistakeable features of Sergeant Grumps.

“No…” breathed the South American, and in a heartbeat he was on the radio to his brother.

“Cap’n Cool here.”

Hermano, it is me.”

“Ah, Patrico. What news?”

“Quickly, there isn’t much time. Is Pat Morrow with you?”

“Sergeant Grumps? Of course he is, he’s my most trusted man.”

El Diablo whipped off his trademark Panama hat and ran a hand through his hair. “Hermano, listen to me. You cannot trust Pat Morrow, you hear me? He’s one of them. Isolate him, get your team away from him before he turns on you.”

There was a pause. “You’re being paranoid, Patrico.”

Beside him, the survivor leaned in to El Diablo. “Reports say that they’re on Science Road.”

“Patrico,” called his brother. “I have to go. Good hunting.”

“No!” screamed El Diablo. “You’re on Science Road. How could I know that? How could I know that unless the OZ is with you?!” But there was no reply.

The Last Man from Penrith called up. “Patrico, what’s the situation?”

“What’s the situation? The zombie is on my brother’s squad. That’s the goddamn situation,” replied El Diablo, already cocking his weapon and leaping down the stairs.

“Don’t tell me you’re planning something stupid.”

“Something stupid? My brother is on that squad!”

“Patrico, listen to me…” The Last Man put a hand on El Diablo’s shoulder, but the South American brushed it away angrily, and started running in the direction of Science Road, leaving the rest of his team behind. In his head, he knew he was acting stupidly, irrationally, almost suicidally, but his heart was screaming at him to save his brother.

As he pelted pell mell through the campus, other survivors called out to him.

“What are you doing, El Diablo?”

“I am trying to save my brother!”

At last, after what seemed like a lifetime of running, El Diablo burst out on to Science Road. He blinked in the harsh light, wheezing, and scanned the road. There was no sign of his brother’s squad, and the street seemed oddly, eerily silent and still in the harsh afternoon light.

Across the road, a man stood nonchalant, dressed like a sex pest. El Diablo recognised him instantly as Sam Jenkins.

“Jenkins!” shouted El Diablo. “Have you seen my hermano… my brother? Cap’n Cool?”

“El Diablo,” replied the man, crossing the road and walking slowly towards the South American. “No, he’s not around here. Why are you looking for him?”

“Because one of the OZs is on his squad. I need to find him before it is too late!” cried El Diablo, panic and fear overtaking his words.

“Your brother can take care of himself, he’s a good soldier.”

“No, you do not understand, he… why are you looking at me like that? Madre de dios, what is… what is wrong with your ojos?”

“Your brother can look after himself,” said Jenkins, reaching out for El Diablo, “but for you, the war is over.”

El Diablo started to scream, but he really didn’t scream for very long.

Thanks for playing!

A big thank you to everyone who joined us for Zedtown 2013. Kudos to our excellent roving mod team, Maria and our Verge volunteers, Issa and our excellent make-up team, our NPCs, Verge Conveners and everyone else who helped put the day together.

We’ll be updating this post with any media, videos, photos or write-ups we can find about the event.

If you find something we don’t know about, let us know on the Zedtown facebook page.


If you have any photos or videos you would like to share, let us know.