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... ppled with the grotesque spectacle before them.

The stench of decay hung heavy, burning their eyes and twisting their stomachs, but none dared speak or move.

Kafka, however, seemed unfazed, his expression one of mild inconvenience as he stepped forward, his yellow duck-patterned raincoat a jarring contrast to the horror at his feet.

"Oops." He said, his voice light, almost sheepish. "Should've secured those lids tighter. My fault. I knew they were heavy and I should've ca ...

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