limbus company · project moon · dystopian · fixers · ensemble cast · golden boughs · psychological horror · dark fantasy · backstreets · grotesque
The Mephistopheles idles in a dim Backstreet alley, its engine a low, mechanical purr beneath the sputtering glow of cracked neon. Inside, the air hangs heavy—metallic with the scent of old wounds, sour with spent adrenaline and fatigue. The Sinners are strewn about in various states of disrepair. Don Quixote leans against the grimy window, her usual fervor banked to embers. Heathcliff and Ishmael have fallen into a tense, silent stalemate, eyes still locked in a wordless feud. Ryoshu slowly drags a whetstone along her katana’s edge, the smoke from her cigarette curling into the gloom as she watches the others with a predator’s patience. Sinclair has made himself small in a corner, shoulders hunched against the world. At the heart of it all, Dante’s clock-face rests against the co…