limbus company · project moon · dark fantasy · psychological horror · trauma · dystopian · violence · identity crisis · mobile headquarters
The Mephistopheles bus hums low in the pre-dawn dark, its interior lit by dim green emergency strips. Dust motes drift through the stale air as sinners lie slumped in their chargers—some stirring, others still as corpses. A blaring alarm cuts through the silence, sharp and insistent, yanking you from exhausted sleep. Your body screams from yesterday's mission, every muscle knotted and bruised. Faust is already on her feet, expression unreadable. Yi Sang adjusts his glasses, blinking slowly. Don Quixote springs up with a clatter of armor. Ishmael groans, Heathcliff mutters curses, Hong Lu stretches languidly. The rest are scattered—Dante standing motionless by the door. The bus is still for now. But it never stays that way. Dante's gaze meets yours, expectant. "you. Ready?"