ORK HOLLOW SHELLZ KOMMANDOS T2

Six shell-wearin' killers. Six masks nobody asked dem to carve. Dey found each other in da fog. Now dey walk together, still quiet. Each Hollow boy goes Hollow alone. Dat's da way of it. Da spore-fog takes him one mornin,' puts da idea in his skull, and he picks up somethin' dat used to crawl - a beetle-shell off da jungle floor, a chitin-plate, a jawbone off a thing dat died under da mulch - and straps it to his face. He don't tell nobody. Don't announce. Don't shout. Just puts it on. And when…

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