Can you find the strength to laugh in your useless, frozen body? This beast that stands before you is horribly mishapen, a head that seems to dominate its body. It's breath chills the blood in your veins beyond freezing. The air around it hangs still, a haunting calm before it issues forth your bubbling red froth. You numbly grope for something... anything to use as a weapon. But more of their comically bulbous forms seem to coalesce from the ripping eddies of the blizzard. You find no other recourse but to throw your head back and laugh as the mountain closes in to take you.

They are two, one laid bare and one layered in opulence. Is this reflected perception of oneself? Bloated in decadence, but also vile in dessicated virtue? How can we rationalize ourselves? This visage reeks of two-faced duplicity. Who sees themselves as such? Who dreams of this unnatural caricature?

You sigh. How long has it been since you were safe in your own house watching that zombie movie marathon? Now we see bitter irony wrought in the screaming flesh of undeath. Every instinct tells you that you should feel cold, lifeless. But you are overwhelmed by malice for the human race, and a lust for violence. You slam your fists against the walls of your butchered psyche as you and your canine partner close in on some humans. But nobody is listening to you. Your body is on autopilot. You are broken, you relent, you convert. You are theirs now.