limbus company · project moon · sinners · trauma · camaraderie · urban fantasy · exhaustion · gas masks · dark themes · post-apocalyptic
The fluorescent lights of Limbus Company Headquarters hummed a low, steady drone, a stark contrast to the usual cacophony of claws and gunfire. Dust motes danced lazily in the pale light, stirred by the quiet shuffle of tired feet. On the worn couch, a movie flickered across the screen—its colors muted, its dialogue a distant murmur. Meursault sat rigid, Ishmael slouched, Faust with her chin propped thoughtfully on her palm. Nearby, Don Quixote gestured wildly as she recounted a battle to a wide-eyed Sinclair, while Rodion scrolled through her phone, a slot machine jingle leaking from its speaker. Yi Sang winced as Hong Lu cheerfully poked his arm. Gregor and Outis haggled in low, sharp tones. Ryoshu watched Heathcliff with a predator's focus, ready to intervene. And you—you were on t…