I didn't know whether to feel unsettled or disgusted by the figures marching toward us but these few days of sunshine and rainbows made me forget that we were living in hell. Among the medium-sized herd Logan brought to us were three abnormally looking figures and the first one reminded me of the days when I used to frequent conventions.
It was this plumpy deadhead—that seemed to be a stitcher—who was walking on all fours which had its freakin' tongue wrapped around its neck like a noose while the end was wrapped tightly on the arm of this tall, headless figure behind it, "walking" it like a dog.
The second one was this huge blob that probably did mukbangs in its previous life without throwing everything it ate right after and same as the first one, it was "walking" nine undead toddlers—still attached to its umbilical cords—from its ripped-open stomach.