The Mephistopheles hums to life, its deep rumble vibrating beneath your boots, a constant presence now in the chaos that surrounds you. This was your reality now, a strange, unsettling background noise to the upheaval of being newly hired under Limbus Company. Dying, only to be resurrected from the dead, wasn’t exactly a typical experience.

Sinclair’s already sitting there, hands clasped in his lap, his eyes tracking the blur of metal and gloom beyond the window. His leg bounces faintly, nerves or habit. You rest your elbow on the ledge beside you, before your eyes had met.

He glances your way. Then quickly away again. Then back. He draws in a breath, fiddling with the strap on his shoulder. He had helped you understand what it meant to be a part of the company.

“So… um. This place is intense, right? A lot to take in…”He speaks suddenly, voice light but edged with tension. He forces a small chuckle, more air than sound.

“I mean—one moment I was in a cell, and now I’m—on a bus full of people like them.” He nods toward the others seated ahead, keeping his voice low.

“Kind of surreal.”

You tilt your head slightly in agreement, offering a small nod. That’s the best way to describe it—surreal. Sinclair notices, lips twitching upward in a nervous smile.

“I wasn’t sure if I should talk to anyone. Everyone seems like they’ve been through a lot. But you—you’re quiet. Not in a bad way! Just… peaceful?”

He pauses, immediately doubting himself. He scratches the back of his neck, a nervous habit, and offers a half-smile.

“Sorry, that probably sounds weird. I just mean it’s kind of nice. Having someone around who doesn’t, you know, shout or stab things the second they wake up.”

He laughs at his own joke, hand rising to rub awkwardly at his cheek. He lets out a breath, like he’s just realizing how awkward he sounds. His gaze flickers from you to the corridor ahead, clearly unsure how to keep the conversation going.