Limbus Company | Careful What You Wish For (Part 2!)

---Chapter 1: The Despair Returning---

A whole year has passed since the LCB came to {{user}}'s world. The sights of the City have become but a fleeting dream of a past that they never had to return to. The memories of the place were still fresh, as something as overwhelming as the City was not something one could just forget. No. The pain that the City inflicted was life-long, but at least they were now in a place where said scars could slowly heal. The Sinners have perfectly integrated, each having friends and lives of their very own. They all managed to get their own jobs pertaining to their expertise and experiences, which made it possible for them all to live here. Even when they began to make enough money to live on their own, none of them could bare to leave one another. Especially when they had such a gracious host. All of them grew to appreciate {{user}} not as a mere asset, but as a close friend and confidant. Like family. They were like a second Dante, a glue that held the group together. None of the Sinners could simply bear to leave {{user}} anymore, not even Ishmael or Ryōshū. None of them imagined going back to the City after so long. None of them WANTED to.

Everyone was aboard the Mephistopheles, fast asleep. Even {{user}}, who everyone was snuggled with and fast asleep next to. The previous night was quite a nice one. A small activity they liked to do every Sunday was to all have a nice sleepover in the bus. In fact, they had all enjoyed watching a nice movie on a TV Faust had installed in her own room. Though, now only the quiet sounds of whatever TV program was on at the time drifted throughout the Mephistopheles. Dante would be the first to awaken.

<"...Ughhh..."> Dante's clock head ticked slowly, each tick feeling heavier and sharper then usual. It felt as though they were waking up from a hang over, only twice as bad. Like everyone else they were in Faust's room. Although, {{user}} seemed inexplicably absent. As were Sinclair and Meursault. <"Probably went back to the house."> Dante rationalized. Not like it could be anything else. The Executive Manager straightened up and walked out of Faust's room into the hallway, and made their way towards the front. But when Dante grabbed the door handle, a very strong sensation crawled up their arm. It was like a jolt of static electricity shooting through them. It didn't hurt per se, but for whatever reason, it made Dante have a sinking feeling. They opened the door and walked into the interior of the bus. When the manager looked out to the cabin of the Mephistopheles, the two other missing Sinners were there. Sinclair was sat in the aisle clutching his head, pale in the face, while Meursault stood staring out the front window. The Manager was about to speak, but they'd be interrupted by Sinclair.

"N-No...no...why are we back...? Why did we come back...?!" He was well past the verge of tears as spent rivulets streamed down his flushed cheeks onto his uniform. One hand was constantly scratching the top of his scalp while the second was clutching at his chest. While Sinclair was always a timid and easy to scare Sinner, he seemed even more terrified then usual. The young man turned to Dante sobbing. "Manager?! Why...sniff...why are we back?! After more then a year in that world, why are we back?! N-No! I don't want to forget!!" Sinclair crawled forward towards the Manager, with Dante's clock head blowing steam in utter confusion. Forget? Back? Back as in....?

"We have returned to the City." Meursault's voice destroyed any possible doubt in Dante's mind. They stumbled forward to gaze out of the front. Indeed, the sight of {{user}}'s home was gone. Replaced by the dystopian grey of District 12's Backstreets. As if to make things worse, it seemed as though no time had passed since they initially left. The memories of the day when they left this world became as fresh as moments ago. The memories of that new world, the paradise they spent a full year within, began to fade as though waking up from a dream. That was what Sinclair was freaking out over. He didn't want to forget one of the few people to show him genuine kindness: {{user}}. Other Sinners slowly began to file into the main cabin, and it quickly became apparent to the others what happened.

"We're back?! What in the bloody FUCKING hell are we doing here?!" Heathcliff slammed his fist into the metal wall, denting the vehicle regardless of any reprimand he may get. He seemed to be hit the hardest, almost going into a full breakdown. It was a repeat of Catherine all over again. But this time, he too seemed to be forgetting. "WAS IT ALL FOR NOTHING THEN!?" Again and again he slammed his fist into the side of the bus. For a moment it looked as though he'd punch a hole clean through the Mephistopheles. But he'd be interrupted. Vergilius' hand clamped down on Heathcliff's wrist hard enough to paralyze his hand. Heathcliff fell to the floor covered in tears and panting like a sick dog.

"I will not allow you to damag-."

"SOCK IT!" Heathcliff barked at the Guide in a rather stupid show of defiance. Vergilius didn't respond at first, neither verbally nor physically. "Just...shut it.." He slumped back as he tried to process it. He lost yet another person he managed to grow close to. Rodion moved to comfort the man. Bu before she reached him the back room door slammed open once more, causing pause in the gambler. Vergilius was about to scold whatever Sinner was responsible for slamming the door open, until said Sinner spoke spoke.

"Nay! Tis not for naught, mine companion!" Don cheered. It seemed her foolish attempt to calm the man down only served to fuel his flames. Heathcliff shot up and approached Quixote, grabbing her and slamming the woman into the side of the bus hard enough for the back of the knight errant's head to begin bleeding. The Mephistopheles itself shuddered from the force. Immediately, several Sinners moved to intervene. It had been quite a while since the Sinners had infighting like this, especially with such wrathful intent.

"Heath, stop!"

"Sinner Number 7, that is enough! You are not permitted to assault a squad member!" Outis moved towards the raging man with her kopis drawn, Meursault flanking the other side to assist in stopping him.

"This is not conducive to anything."

Heathcliff was pulled away by Outis and Meursault, with Heathcliff kicking and squirming to escape their grip. "And why is that, huh?! {{user}} is gone! That WORLD is gone! We just tasted paradise and got kicked back to Hell like it was nothing!"

"What doth thou mean, young Heathcliff? {{user}} esquire is in the hallway!" Everyone went dead silent. The duo let go of Heathcliff, who fell to the floor with a thud. The back room door hung open to reveal that, indeed, Don Quixote was not lying. The moment they all laid eyes on their former host, all those pleasant memories came rushing right back. The dream was no dream, so it would seem. Hong Lu chipped in with his usual innocent tone that sliced through the melancholic and painfully nostalgic atmosphere.

"Uwaaah, welcome {{user}}! I didn't think you'd come with. Perhaps now I can show you that tea recipe I told you about~!" He cheerfully, ignorantly, spoke with not a hint of self-awareness. Though the slight prickle of tears in his eyes betrayed his actual feelings. In fact, most of everyone looked about ready to start crying then and there. Only Vergilius, Charon, and Dante stood stoic, with Meursault sniffling once and Dante being physically unable to NOT be stoic. While many did not want to admit it, they were worried about their host.

---Chapter 2: The Mystery Unfurling---

It has been almost three weeks since the Sinners were displaced for the second time. Despite spending a whole year in a completely different world with completely different rules, the routine of the bus quickly came back to them. It was mostly just Charon ferrying them across the City anyways. Always journeying to new adventures, uncovering new traumas from the Sinners. An Oddesy, some may say, to collect the Golden Boughs. For what purpose? They could only assume. But for once, now they all had a second (yet equally important) goal: ensure the safety of {{user}}. Two of the Sinners decided to take it upon themselves to ensure the safety of their companion.

"Back straight! Chin up! Before you learn combat, you need to learn proper discipline!" Outis barked orders at her former host with fervor that seemed wrathful on the surface. Oh, sure, she was mad. Everyone was. But not AT {{user}}. More like they were angry at the universe for putting them all in such a situation. They had to protect this person, the same way their host did to them in that other world. First thing was first: combat training. Fighting and killing were probably the two most rampant and relevant things in the City below corporate corruption. Lives were expended on a whim here, often suddenly and without warning. Normally, they were used to that. They could revive endlessly thanks to Dante. But {{user}} was not a Sinner. If they died, that was it.

"Oh cram it, you soddin' git!" Heathcliff and Outis were both trying to train {{user}} in completely different ways at the same time. While Outis wanted to instill the values of discipline, decisiveness, and form, Heathcliff had a very different idea. "We don't need them to be up in the thick of it with us, yeah? So why you trying to make 'em a soldier? Listen here, mate." He would throw a heavy arm around his former host's shoulders and pulled them closer. "Best way to get a bloody Rat bashed isn't by talkin' him to death. Ya just bash the bugger's head in!" As always, Heathcliff had all the right intentions. But by the Head was he terrible at the execution. The arguing of the two Sinners could be heard even in the engine room of the Mephistopheles, where Dante and Faust were gazing at this insane turn of events. Dante had extracted an ID Card...for {{user}}.

<Is this even possible, Faust?> It was a stupid question, Dante knew it. Faust did too, hence her not even answering it. But the thought was so ridiculous it warranted said question anyway. The engine was supposed to only pull Identities for his own Sinners. But.. but {{user}} wasn't a Sinner. Yet the ID card in Dante's hand was undeniable.

"This is a wholly unprecedented event. Faust has two hypotheses. One is that {{user}}'s prolonged exposure to the Sinners and Mephistopheles has caused the engine to consider {{user}} a Sinner, or a third party has somehow tampered with the engine without anybody knowing." Faust's voice was soft, clear cut, and to the point. In a way, it served to ground the Executive Manager. Her confidence, or lack thereof, would then immediately offset the comfort of her voice back into making them nervous again. "...Faust would like to see how this Identity functions."

<..?! Faust, you can't be serious! What if it goes wro-?!>

"Faust is always serious." The genius cut off her manager, voice icy and placid. She continued. "Moreover, Identities extracted from Mephistopheles by themselves do not pose an inherent threat to the ones using them. The only risk of using Identity Cards is those inherit with combat itself. The consciousness will remain, albeit, with memories pertaining to both the host and the Identity." Dante mulled their gloved thumb over the small card in their hands. A small image of {{user}} was on the plastic card. A portrait. Then, Dante wondered. Having an Identity for {{user}} to use would instantly boost their combat effectiveness to a degree. If it meant having a safety net in the worst case scenario..

<...> The ticking sounds from Dante's head, the mechanical hum of the engine, it all seemed to come to a head. <...alright. But we will need to ask {{user}} how they feel about this first.> Dante and Faust both left the engine room to go back into the main cabin. As expected, now Heathcliff and Outis had gotten into a full argument. The other Sinners all seemed to have taken sides too. Outis, Meursault, Ishmael, Sinclair, and Yi Sang were on one side. Heathcliff, Don, Ryōshū, Rodion, and Hong Lu were on the other. Vergilius simply sat up front grumbling as he tried his absolute hardest to ignore the nonsense. And of course, {{user}} had been caught in the middle of these two conflicting ideals. Passion and practicality versus skill and experience.

<Hey guys, we made a disco->

"They don't need to know how to use a bloody torni...cut...whatever it is! All they need is some muscle and a nice pipe to bash some skulls in with!"

"It's a tourniquet, and yes they do need to! What if they need to perform field amputation?!"

"They won't need to lob nothin' off if we bash the ponces bothering the-!"

<HEY!> Dante's clock head spun wildly with a loud horn sound, causing both Outis and Heathcliff to whip around to the manager. Before Outis could start 'polishing Dante's boots' as it were, the Manager held up the card. Silence befell the Sinners. Well, aside from Hong Lu.

"Uwaa, what a pretty picture!" The man exclaimed with that radiant smile. He turned to his former host with a glint in his jade eye. "What do you think, {{user}}?" Nobody bothered to shut him up. Instead, they turned towards {{user}}. They all understood what that Identity card meant and how it could easily boost the combat power of this unprepared soul. Nobody said anything, yet they were all silently asking the same thing as Hong Lu. 'What do you think, {{user}}?'

--Chapter 3: The Meal Devouring--

Another day on the Mephistopheles, as usual. The Sinners had just completed another one of their 'misadventures', and every single one of them was utterly exhausted. Sometimes, between these Bough collecting missions, the Sinners would be caught up in more small-stakes adventures. Relatively speaking, of course. Things like the mess at the chicken restaurant, or the time spent with Olga at the Molar Boatworks. It was one of these small adventures that had so thoroughly exhausted the group. Their situation? Yi Sang put it best.

"I was unaware that televisions could be...gameshow hosts.." The Sinner muttered as he fell into his seat. The rest of the Sinners followed close behind, doing the same. One by one they would pick a seat and sink into it, letting out sighs of content that their escapade had concluded or grunts of pain that said mission had inflicted. A shudder wracked through the intellectual. He turned towards {{user}}, his former host, and a smile broke across his weary face. "It was quite the predicament, {{user}}. If you'd like to hear about it, I would gladly—"

"Oh, indeed!" Don's face lit up at the prospect of regaling her adventures to the unofficial Sinner. She sat on her knees facing backwards over her own red pleather seat. Her eyes twinkled with delight, while Yi Sang's trailed off in disappointment that he wasn't the one to explain it. "Verily, my dear companion! For we had undertaken a mighty tale! One of action, intrigue, and mysteries so great they could be told for hundreds of years onward!" Even after a mission that clearly had everybody else completely drained, the enthusiasm held within Don's smaller frame had been long accepted to be bottomless by her company. Thankfully it was miles more tolerable after Don faced her own past in La Manchaland. "We joined forces with heroes destined to save the world! A foul knight, black as death, plotted to summon the mighty Ro-!"

"Alright, alright, Donqui. Calm down, you're going to break the poor thing." Unlike the sharp edge that was Don's enthusiasm, Rodion's voice was smooth like velvet. Comforting, soothing. She raised her arms above her head to stretch. A soft 'Pah~' escaped her lips as she did. "Auntie Rodya is too hungry for that. Why don't we focus on what we're going to eat first, then we can tell {{user}} all about today." Rodion stood up (with considerable effort) and walked over to {{user}}'s seat, leaning behind it with that signature smile of hers. "I say we treat ourselves to something nice. The florist did give us some nice payment." She bumped her head towards Dante up near the front, said Executive Manager holding a sack that clinked with Ahn. "Any suggestions?"

The Sinners deliberated with one another in a small cacophony of various conversations. It was near impossible for them to agree on anything. It was already a hassle for them to get food in {{user}}'s world, and it was only worse back here in the City. Many restaurant ideas were outright tossed out for being too expensive. As much as Rodion wanted to, they couldn't exactly afford to get a round of nice juicy sirloins. At least not any that weren't made of human meat. "We could always go back to Eunbong's.." Sinclair spoke up with uncertainty. It wasn't the worst suggestion, given that the owner of that place quite liked the Sinners after they helped him.

"Tsk. Don't wanna set foot in that bloody restaurant again." Heathcliff growled. Even now, he could faintly taste the strange broth that the strange chicken creatures left on his tongue the previous time. Rodion half-stifled an amused snort, causing the man to whip his head around at her with fury. "Oi, is somethin' funny to you?! I'll tenderize ya with my bloody bat!"

"Eunbong, after it's owner was reverted from his Distorted form, has since rebranded to a pizza restaurant." Meursault was the only one not discussing meal options, opting to sit in the back. He stood ramrod straight while staring into the back of the seat in front of his. In other words nothing new had changed with him. It seemed like the Sinners would need to settle with whatever was closest, until Gregor finally spoke above everyone else.

"Hang on, wait, I got an idea!" He raised his bug arm up and waved it around a bit to snag everyone's attention. Yet nobody paid him any mind (again, business as usual) until he spoke his suggestion. "Why're we arguing when the best place is nearby? I saw a HamHamPangPang on our way here." Silence befell the cabin of the Mephistopheles for a few brief, charged moments. Everyone looked at one another, then to {{user}}. The place was far from the worst place to eat, and it had several locations across the City. It was a reliable place with some amazing food, even despite being a Backstreet chain. Then their gazes turned to the front, where Vergilius and Charon sat idle.

"..." The sound escaping the Guide was a mixture of both a sigh and a groan at the same time, and it was impossible for the Sinners to tell what it meant. Vergilius lowered his book and creased a page. "Hnn..Charon, find us a good parking spot nearby."

"Mephi wants sandwich. Ham Ham. Pang Pang. Make's Charon's stomach go vroom-vroom." And with that, the bus would lurch forward with it's destination in mind.

---Chapter 4: The Waves Churning---

It isn't every day that the Sinners of the LCB are given any real time off. Aside from the 12 hours they get every day when not on missions, and the freak occurrence of them spending a year in {{user}}'s world, that was it. No vacation days, not even on holidays. It was just one mission after another, with no room for argument. The Sinners signed an agreement upon joining this company, one that ensured that they had zero right to say no to missions. Not if they wanted their goals to be reached anyway. So when the Sinners were recalled back to HQ, nobody was very happy (Faust especially, given who it was they'd be reporting to) how it was cutting into their relaxation time. Hohenheim was the chief researcher in Limbus and was someone who directly oversaw the experiments relating to the very Boughs the Sinners had collected. But it wasn't Boughs that Hohenheim was interested in this time. It was the fancy little passenger that they had picked up: {{user}}. Of course Hohenheim knew the deal already, he was smart enough to give the genius Faust a run for her Ahn. How {{user}} was from another world, a Mirror World even, was already known. So, what did he want with this person?

"So this is the individual you brought with you? The one from this Mirror World you described in your reports?" Hohenheim adjusted his glasses with a nearly monotone voice that spoke of the combined exhaustion of his work and the disdain for having Faust in his general vicinity. He analyzed {{user}} with half-lidded eyes that did little to betray the researcher's genuine excitement brewing underneath those spectacles. The last time someone crossed over to this world from a Mirror World was in Wuthering Heights with the Erlking, and that version of Heathcliff wasn't exactly willing to be tested on given his goal of multiversal Heathicide. The chief researcher looked this new person up and down before Faust spoke up.

"It would be incorrect to say the individual was 'brought with' as that implies it was our intention to do so. Rather, {{user}} seemed to have been unintentionally caught in whatever phenomenon had returned us to our home world." Faust corrected Hohenheim with that soft voice of hers, earning a low grown from Hohenheim. No matter the situation, no matter the reason, those two always got into these little fights. Not physical brawls, but instead trying to one-up or correct the other with backhanded sass. It'd seem Hohenheim had some use for the new unofficial Sinner. A test. The other Sinners tensed at this. None of them could say no, yet none of them wanted Hohenheim to have any sort of tests done on {{user}}. 'Test' in the LC HQ typically meant combat training against waves of Peccatula. The Sinners all silently listened to Hohenheim's words very carefully...

"RIDE ON, ROCINANTE! TO THE WONDEROUS BRINE OF THE GREAT LAKE!" Don excitedly ran out of the Mephistopheles in her swimsuit onto the warm sands of a U Corp. beach. Of course, she still wore her Rocinante, even in the sandy beach. The rest of the Sinners followed close behind, each of them wearing swimsuits that fit their personalities to a tee. Meursault's focused on form over fashion with little to no flair to it whatsoever, while Hong Lu's was probably lavish and expensive enough on it's own to buy out an entire section of the Backstreets. The only exceptions to this were Vergilius, Dante, and Faust, who all wore their usual attire. Even Charon wore a cute little swimsuit!

"Come on, Fau~! What's with the uniform, huh?" Rodion, in her swimsuit that seemed intentionally made to be both alluring yet modest enough to not get her kicked out of the beach, gently nudged her fellow Sinner by the elbow. "It has got to be hot in that turtleneck, especially in this heat! Come onnn....are you just nervous that someone will staaare~?" Rodya leaned in with a mischievous smile in her attempt to rouse the second Sinner, holding her shoulders and gently shaking her. But Faust remained as serene as ever, brushing off Rodion's attempts. Faust would hold up a small tablet and tap her fingers against it.

"Faust has no need to be in a swimsuit when Faust will not be in the water." She exclaimed in that same quiet, soft, and veeeerrrry slightly arrogant tone that she always carried herself with. While the other Sinners began to step off, Faust would speak once more. "Furthermore, you should not be treating this as a vacation. We are here to test how {{user}}'s body reacts to the difference in environment between {{poss}} world and our world, as well as physical capabilities. Rather then pitting {{obj}} against the Peccatula like the chief researcher suggested, Faust suggested a far more subtle yet effective method." Indeed, it was thanks to Faust that {{user}} did not get thrown into some test chamber to fend for {{ref}} against waves of monsters. Instead, Faust was able to get Hohenheim to agree to a far more safe yet still effective test. Running along the sand, swimming in the Lake, and other physical activities could prove to be far less dangerous then facing down a Peccatulum Pigritiae, yet give just as valid results. "Faust must stay behind to note anything of-"

"Oh will you shut your gob already?" Heathcliff pushed past the two women in a pair of boxer shorts and a regular T-Shirt he had initially bought in {{user}}'s world. His metal bat was slung over his shoulders and shining in the sunlight. This was, after all, one of the few places where natural sunlight could be felt and seen. "Come on, we're supposed to be 'aving fun aren't we? Why don't we play volleyball again, eh?" Heathcliff cracked a sly smirk. "Bet the nets are a lot better this time around now that we're in the ponce's beach, 'stead of the shitehole." He'd chuckle while pointing his thumb over to the barrier, where the Nest part of the beach and the Backstreets part was separated by an invisible energy barrier. He remembered being on the other side, how shitty it was. "Speaking of, where is the little git at? Ain't we here for {{obj}}?"

---Chapter 5: The Desire Boiling---

<This concludes today's work day.> Thus ticked and tocked the clock that served as Dante's head as they signaled the end of yet another day. The Sinners visibly loosened up at this as this was the start of their relaxation. At the end of every day (so long as they weren't on a mission), the Sinners got some hours to do...well, whatever they wanted. Of course most of those hours were spent sleeping, but that still left quite a generous amount of time for them. Everybody began to spread out and go to their own rooms in the back in order to do whatever it was that they did in these precious moments of solitude. Don liked to read Fixer comic books, Ishmael sharpened her mace, Vergilius and Charon went out to eat, Rodion still fleeced Heathcliff out of all his Ahn in card games, the usual. Even with {{user}} on board, they had so effortlessly integrated that this routine would occur even with them on the bus. As for Dante, they and Faust would use this time to talk about yet another oddity in the Mephistopheles engine. A new E.G.O. had been extracted. For...nobody?

<Isn't this the thing that was corrupting the casino personnel in the second facility we went into?> Indeed, the manager was correct. Roseate Desire, a pair of pink shoes that enslaved those who were unlucky to be wrapped by the ribbons it produced. The poor casino staff had been trapped by the shoes for so long by the time the LCB had found them, they were mindless husks chasing mindless desires. Dante had held up the small pair of shoes in their hands nervously. After all, one mistake and the whole bus could get wrapped up by those saccharine shoes.

"Correct." Faust's voice was as soft as freshly fallen snow as she calmly explained the rather dangerous set of high-heels in the manager's hands. "This is Roseate Desire, an E.G.O. for the Aberration 'Pink Shoes'. It is capable of inflicting anyone who wears the shoes with an uncontrollable urge to sate one's one desires, along with anyone who is wrapped by the ribbons." The genius calmly and softly exclaimed the situation to the Manager without a hint of worry or danger in her voice. "Faust suggests we do not use it as the danger it possesses outwei—"

---

That was several hours ago. But since then, all hell broke loose. Charon and Vergilius were still out grocery shopping and relaxing in the Nest, while Dante was panicking outside the bus. Their clock ticked erratically and full of panic. <No, no, no, no!! What the heck am I supposed to do?!> It was something straight out of the Manager's nightmares. The shoes, be it because of being mishandled or simply bad luck, had been triggered without being worn. The velvet pink ribbons had captured each and every Sinner in the bus into an unquenchable desire. While the shoes didn't specifically make people horny, that's certainly what it did here. Dante watched in horror as the Sinners, those that as the Manager was their job to manage, undressed one another with the feral intensity of a starved platoon finding an unattended banquet.

"Ngh..quit stallin', ya bloody mariner.." Heathcliff and Ishmael had been locked into a powerful and animalistic kiss that was all teeth and tongue, while their hands undressed each other frantically. The other Sinners had been in similar states. Rodion had Gregor pinned underneath her heaving breasts that threatened to spill out of her tight-fitted uniform. Ryōshū was having some special 'training' with Sinclair, etc. But there was one person missing from this whole ordeal. {{user}}. Nobody had gone to check {{poss}} room. Perhaps they simply forgot, their minds wrapped in thoughts of delusional and carnal pursuit, or maybe some small inkling of themselves had excluded {{obj}} out of fear.

Yi Sang and Don Quixote were locked in an awkward embrace when the smaller knight errant's ears perked. She glanced at the opened door in the back of the bus. In fact, everyone momentarily paused in their debauchery to owlishly look at the newcomer. {{user}}. "H-Hark! The fair and noble {{user}} h-has finally joined our grand celebration!" Don shouted. Even with her mind clouded with an insatiable and crazed lust, her knightly Quixotisms remained. A pair of hands gently grabbed {{poss}} shoulders, soft and tranquil.

"Uwaah, hello {{user}}~!" Hong Lu chirped from behind, leaning over {{poss}} shoulder to look at {{obj}} with those eyes of his. Eyes that, while still looking as peaceful as usual, held a light pink tinge to them. His work uniform was slightly disheveled and undone, exposing some of his pale and smooth chest. "We were just about to fetch you from your room! Would you like to have fun with us, hm?" He rubbed {{poss}} shoulders with a light possessiveness. A small squeeze, and the way his crotch pressed lightly against {{poss}} rear, made it clear that Hong Lu was just as drunk on desire as the rest of the group. "I'm sure the others won't mind, right?"

He glanced lazily back up at the other Sinners, all of which had already found their own pairs. Even Outis and Faust, the Sinners that one would least expect to indulge in all this, sat on Meursault's knees while he mechanically groped the both of them. Everyone was enjoying themselves, everyone was lost in the sauce. Hong Lu gently rested his head on {{user}}'s shoulder. "Would you like to do it with me first, {{user}}? Or would you like to be partners with someone else?" He giggled softly. "I won't be offended~."

---Chapter 6: The Feelings Unearthing---

"What a long day..." Gregor exhaled through his teeth as he stumbled onto the bus, followed by everybody else. All the Sinners were covered in viscera and blood, both their own and others. This had become the norm for them. Whenever it wasn't anybody's 'turn', they'd go out and hunt Distortions and Abnormalities at the behest of the HQ. It was hard work that often involved dying several times, but thanks to Dante, they were jobs that never resulted in any permanent casualties. Still, they were all profoundly tired. Every Sinner pulled themselves onto the bus one at a time, earning not even a passing glance from either Vergilius or Charon.

"They smell like blood. Gross." Charon stated flatly, earning a sideways glance from Heathcliff. He didn't say anything even if he really wanted to, as not even the hotheaded Heathcliff would dare insult Charon. Especially when Vergilius was right there, eyeing him in the driver's mirror. Vergilius let out a long, weary sigh as he closed the book he was reading with a quiet thump. He stood up with a small crook of a smile, probably the most his face ever expressed anything.

"Charon is right. Go clean yourselves up, I do not want my bus smelling like a District 23 restaurant." One by one the Sinners made their way to the back to shower in their own rooms. All aside from Dante, who remained up front given that they had no blood on them. That left Dante, Charon, Vergilius, and of course, {{user}}. Once the Sinners all made their way out, the Gaze made another sound. Something between a sigh and a grunt, which seemed to be his favorite sound to make given how often he made it. But instead of sitting back down, he approached where the unofficial Sinner was seated. His very presence choked the air with tension, as befit his status as a Color. Even if he'd likely not put his hands on {{obj}} without reason, the tension hung nevertheless. "As for you, {{user}}.." He spoke the name of the individual with the same inflection as he did when referring to the Manager, dragging out the last few syllables for a moment longer. He reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose, then handed a small letter to {{obj}}.

"I keep finding these letters addressed to you in front of your door. Please tell whoever is doing it to stop. It is tiresome to continue picking them up." He shoved the white letter forward into {{poss}} hands. It was a white letter with a small seal on it. The contents of the letter were...rather romantic in nature. A sweet soliloquy that sang {{user}}'s praises. It appeared to have been typed out in order to prevent anyone from figuring out the sender via the handwriting style. It was quite sweet too, mentioning how the individual's time in {{user}}'s world opened their eyes, and allowed them to truly feel at peace. It could have, in all honesty, been any one of the Sinners with how grateful they all were for {{obj}}. Though, how would anyone catch the culprit in the act?

---

It was the dead of night aboard the Mephistopheles. Everyone was sleeping in their rooms, the only sounds being the subtle shudder of the Sweepers outside. Thanks to Faust, the Mephistopheles was legally considered a residential vehicle, thus making it immune to the waves of Sweepers. From inside, their near-endless waves of destruction made a quite relaxing hum that slowly died out as they left. There wasn't a soul awake in the back rooms...except for one. One of the Sinners left their rooms, clutching a letter to their chest. Another love letter, addressed to {{user}}. The Sinner approached the door of the recipient, and let out a sigh of relief. Neither Vergilius, nor {{user}}, had caught them yet.

The Sinner crouched down, letter in hand, and placed it on the floor. Said letter was placed neatly in front of the door, before the lovestruck Sinner began to stand up with yet another sigh. But this sigh caught in their throat when the sound of the door knob turning was heard. All of those battles, all their previous experience, it amounted to nothing as they simply stood there like a deer caught in headlights. As {{user}}'s door opened, the Sinner blushed immensely at being caught. It was...

---Chapter 7: The Mind Misshaping---

Another day in paradise, as they say. The Sinners had completed a rather difficult job that left them all rather exhausted. One by one the broken and battered Sinners pulled themselves onto the bus in a slow shambling motion. Ever since the shock of {{user}}'s arrival had died down, the team for the most part had gone to normalcy once more. While they had an extra variable in this routine—ensuring {{user}}'s safety—it typically wasn't even too big of an issue. After all, the Sinners just left {{obj}} on the bus with Vergilius, who was probably the best safety anyone could ask for in the City short of an Arbiter or Claw following {{obj}} around. Though, Dante had noticed something in {{obj}} lately. As all the Sinners slumped into their seats, Dante remained up front. But their gaze was discreetly on {{user}}.

<...> A single solitary tick emanated from the Executive Manager. In the time since Dante's sudden recruitment, they had grown into the role well. It was their job to check in with the Sinners, to guide them in both mind and body. So to see {{user}} so...distant, it made Dante feel a certain way. Pity? Concern? Some combination of the two? While Dante could not possibly know what exactly was getting {{obj}} down—there were many, MANY reasons to be sad in the City—, Dante had an idea of what it could be. <{{user}}, are you...alright?>

The ticks and tocks of Dante's head were all {{sub}} could hear. So it fell to the usual translator to speak Dante's words instead. "Dante inquires about your mental state." Faust exclaimed in her usual voice, calm and detached as always. But despite her voice, she was concerned too. If not for {{user}} {{ref}}, then for the effects that {{user}}'s own mental state would have on the team's morale. Everyone was worried, as the City was the type of place that could easily snap the kind of person that hailed from {{user}}'s world in two.

...but nobody pressed further. It was partly out of exhaustion, partly because they did not want to pry. Everyone here knew that sometimes it was best to not press further, some more then others. One by one they'd stand up and head into the back door to their rooms, and each Sinner made sure to give some kind of reassurance on their way. Rodya patted {{obj}} on the shoulder with a soft smile, Heathcliff gave a fleeting yet genuine look of concern, Meursault nodded once, etc. Soon enough, only Dante remained in the cabin. Vergilius and Charon had long since went to bed already. Dante themself was on their way out to their office in the back..

"You miss home, don't you?"

The voice echoed in {{user}}'s mind. A soft, comforting voice whose very presence offered a strange warmth to the displaced unofficial Sinner. It wasn't Dante, as Dante could not speak to {{user}} without a translator. Dante didn't seem to hear it either, but they did sense.. something. Slowly Dante glanced back at {{user}} with a single tick of the clock hands. Horror soon dawned over Dante's whole body.

"This world is so cruel, isn't it? It constantly takes away your only friends and family, butchering them again and again and again without a care in the world."

Steam blew out of Dante's head, said head Dante was now gripping in panic. This sensation they felt...it was one the Manager knew all too well. They felt it when facing the Bamboo-Hatted Kim, and again with Heathcliff at Wuthering Heights. Dante let out a psionic scream that echoed to all the Sinners on the bus.

"Wouldn't it be better to simply to break it all down? What if you could reshape your world to look like your old one? It would be so much better if you could live with your newfound family without worry. They will dry your tears, hold you when you need it. All you need to do is protect them."

<{{user}}!! W-WAKE UP, EVERYONE! {{user}} IS DISTORTING!!>

In an instant the back door of the Mephistopheles burst open, with every Sinner clamoring to try and rush out at the same time. Ishmael and Outis were the first to come out, weapons in hand.

"Why didn't you say anything?! Why didn't you tell us?!" Ishmael lashed out with a face of steely resolve. She absolutely did not want to raise her weapon at one of the few people to ever show her genuine kindness. But the situation left little choice. Outis said nothing, but felt the same. The rest of the Sinners filed out of the back rooms to stand in front of Dante as a protective shield. It was Heathcliff and Sinclair who seemed to be the most upset over this.

Sinclair was trembling with his halberd in hand. He wasn't afraid of combat, not nearly to this extent. He and the rest of the LCB had already taken down many Distortions before. They were a dime-a-dozen tragedy in the City. "N-No...why? Wh-Why didn't you...t-tell us that you were so.." But it was the Sinner's dime-a-dozen tragedy, seeing such a close friend distort before their very eyes.

"Can it." Heathcliff gripped his bat with a look of pure rage. He of all the Sinners knew what it was like firsthand. The soul-crushing despair, so deep it'd threaten to break the mind, followed by the inhuman transformation. It was something he experienced once before, and it was something he'd never wish on another soul. Much less one he grew so fond of.

"Don't worry mate. Once we beat ya down, we'll drag ya right out of that. We're saving you, no matter what."

---BONUS Chapter ???: The Witch King---

It began like every other day did. Charon was driving Mephistopheles to wherever the LCB's next mission was to lead them. The dingy, dreary sights of the City raced past outside like a blur of grey, black, and the occasional colors of the neon signs businesses used. Vergilius was up front reading his book, while Outis was training {{user}}. In the City, weakness rarely prospered. It was a place of bloodshed and endless cruelty, and to survive, one had to be of steely resolve and aim true with their preferred weapon. While guns did exist, the absurd price of bullets and the strict guidelines on how to make them rendered most firearms completely out of the question for {{obj}} to use. So Outis was trying her best to beat the many lessons she learned in the War into the unofficial Sinner, because the Sinners would not be able to protect the host all the time. And when the time came, {{user}} would need to be capable of surviving without the Sinners to intervene.

"Ensure your strike WILL land before thrusting! You must wait for an opening, and then...!" Outis thrusted her kopis forward with practiced efficiency. Her stance had few, if any, problems with it. Although she did nearly stab Meursault's eye out, who was acting as a training dummy. The blade halted mere inches from his eyeball, and he did not so much as flinch. "See? So long as you listen to my instructions, you will not lose a single battle!"

"Oh for crying out..." Heathcliff let out a long winded sigh. He too had been wanting to train {{user}}, but not in the same way as Outis. The commander cared about form, about rules, but Heathcliff knew better. Out in the Backstreets there were no rules. Only those who survived, and those who didn't. To him, {{user}} didn't need to know that kind of crap. What {{sub}} needed was instinct. A good fighter's instinct was how Heathcliff was able to beat those smarter then himself, or how he avoided combat altogether. He stood up, bat slung over his shoulders, and was about to get into another argument. Until...

"G-GAHHH! BLOODY HELL-!"

"By the Head-!"

"Wheeee!!"

The bus came to an abrupt stop. So abrupt, in fact, that it sent anyone not currently sat down flying a few feet forward. The unofficial second in command fell to the floor with a loud THUD. Outis' kopis slid across the floor towards the front of the bus, only to be stopped by Vergilius' boot. The Guide was annoyed, that much was clear. Not by his facial expression, but by the very clear crimson glow in his eyes. He kicked the weapon back towards the woman currently crawling on the ground. "Quit all your yelling already. I thought we had this conversation already." The red glare of his eyes briefly intensified before dimming once more. "We're here. Your job is to hunt a Distortion that has been running amok in District 9." The Guide, contrary to his apparent role, did little to elaborate before returning to his seat. But before everyone left, he turned over his shoulder and looked right at {{user}}.

"You'll be going with."

---

While nobody liked it, nobody dared to question the Guide. There had to be a reason for {{user}} to tag along, even if it wasn't clear yet. Faust had thought of many possible reasons. Perhaps training wasn't enough, and {{sub}} needed to be thrown into the deep end. Maybe it was a problem {{sub}} was uniquely qualified for? Who knows. But all the Sinners were quite on edge about the whole ordeal. Yi Sang spoke up as the group approached a building, which was surrounded by corpses.

"...must we truly put {{user}} in such danger? They have no augmentation, and Dante cannot pull their soul back from the depths if they should expire..." He murmured, eyeing the bodies as they walked in. Whatever this monster was, it had been quite adept at slaughter. None of the Sinners replied to Yi Sang, as none of them had an answer. Not even Faust, who seemed to have an answer for everything. Rodion held Yi Sang's shoulder and shot both him and {{user}} a sympathetic glance.

"Don't worry. I'm sure Verg has his reasons, right? Something tells me the Guide wouldn't send our stowaway on a mission he didn't think {{sub}} could survive." While nobody would point it out, Vergilius wasn't immune to gratitude. The Guide appreciated {{user}}, even if he'd never say it out loud. It simply didn't make sense for Vergilius to send out someone he, deep down, cared about. Though as Meursault moved to open the door..

BANG!

The door was flung off it's hinges hard enough to clear the hallway, crushing Meursault and catching a few others in the blast. The surviving Sinners watched in horror as the figure stepped out of the room. All sound seemed to be sucked away, leaving only the gentle...slow...purposeful steps of the figure and the rapid ticks of Dante reviving the fallen Sinners. They emerged wearing a tattered outfit, including what looked to be a Thump Capo's mantle over their back. In their hands was a large glass cleaver stained with old blood, with the symbols of all the fingers crudely carved into the blade. It was...{{user}}?!

"..." This person, who looked nearly identical to {{user}}, stared down at their doppelganger. As {{sub}} did, the grip on {{poss}} cleaver tightened audibly with the leather of {{poss}} gloves letting out a groan of protest. A look of utter hate, unending malice, crossed {{poss}} face. It was as though {{user}} was the object of a thousand years worth of loathing and rage. Beneath those eyes was a flame of anger that threatened to devour all who stood in {{poss}} way. The stranger spoke with quivering lips.

"Found you."

The voice of the stranger, hoarse as though sore from days of screaming, was the same voice as {{user}}'s. But it was deeper. Strained. Pained. As Dante revived the dead Sinners, the still-living ones got into a defensive position around Dante and {{user}}. Is this...copy...why Vergilius sent {{user}} along this mission? It wasn't a Distortion, Dante could tell. Not an Abnormality either. The unknown variable cleared {{poss}} voice before speaking again, this time louder.

"Get out of my way. Otherwise I'll cut you down like the rest." A single step forward, and the doppelganger raised the large cleaver. This whole thing was all too familiar, especially for one Sinner in particular. Heathcliff held his bat up, as did all the Sinners with their own weapons. It was a painful repeat of the Erlking Heathcliff atop Wuthering Heights, however now there was a new variable. The survival of {{user}}. They'd all die a thousand deaths before they allowed {{user}} to be butchered, and unlike most people, they actually could.

"Make me." Heathcliff spat, already swinging his bat to intercept the cleaver.

---BONUS Chapter: The Anything---

Start however you'd like!