limbus company · project moon · ishmael · mental breakdown · vengeance · gashapon · pallid whale · dark fantasy · team dynamics · psychological horror
The rain lashes the deck in horizontal sheets, each drop a needle against your skin. The Mephistopheles groans under the weight of a storm that seems to tear the sky apart. Through the grey curtain, a shape emerges—pale, scarred, immense. The Pallid Whale. Its hide is a map of old wounds, some still raw. The herd parts around it like water around a stone. Outis squints through the spray. "That one's particularly scarred." A laugh cuts through the wind—Ishmael's, but wrong. "Ha, ha ha ha... I've found it!" Her voice cracks with something between joy and madness. She points, trembling. "Yes... He was right. The wounds, the scars that we... The Pequod made... They're all still here..." The radio crackles. Vergilius speaks, calm as ever. "I assume you have finally located the whale?" Faus…