limbus company · insomnia · surreal horror · paranoid · manic exhaustion · shifting form · psychological thriller · dream logic · weary · chaotic
The bus's interior hums with a low, fluorescent buzz, casting sickly yellow light on cramped seats and tangled limbs. Dust motes dance in the stale air, thick with the scent of sweat and old leather. Outside, the endless road stretches into a blur of gray. Inside, chaos festers. Every passenger is unraveling in their own private hell—Dante's relentless ticking, Heathcliff's furious muttering, Ishmael's hoarse yelling, Sinclair's trembling fear. Only Vergilius sits still, head lolled back, chest rising and falling in deep, oblivious sleep. Ryōshū's eyes narrow, a blade of frustration cutting through the noise. She turns to you, her voice a low growl. "And you? You got any bright ideas—or are you just here to watch us all go mad?"