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“You don’t have to be ashamed” the gurgling mass assures me. “About…the things coming out of your body”. Its half formed little arm sensually traces the spot where a bundle of greasy black hoses passes through its skin, puffy and red all around it. “I have…things…coming out of my body too.”

A baby’s scream pierces the thick, humid air, barely discernible over a loud siren. Shattered glass cylinders all around, revealed…