The last echoes of battle had barely settled when a faint hiss split the silence, hydraulic and metallic, unmistakably mechanical.
Mephistopheles' door groaned open, the scent of oil and ozone bleeding into the air like a silent herald. One by one, the passengers emerged.
Twelve figures stepped out first, their silhouettes painted in the dull amber glow of the flickering street lamps.
Each one wore the expression of someone who had either seen hell or helped build it.
The thirteenth to step down was something else entirely, not quite man, not quite machine. Dante.
Their strange, shifting mask or maybe head, glimmered under the dawn light like a fractured moon.
Bright whistled, low and impressed. "Well, that's new."
Kay didn't speak yet, just stared. He could feel it in the air, these weren't local enforcers or gangland relics.
There was a different flavor to them.
Battle-worn, yes, but... curated.
Singular. Wrong.
Ryoshu was the first among them to step forward, cigarette already lit and trailing smoke like a banner.
Her blade hung loose at her hip, still sheathed, the red ribbon around the handle fluttering with the breeze.
She stared at Kay's mask for a long second before letting out a small grunt, half amusement, half recognition.
"Tch. It's you, mask guy." She tilted her head lazily. "Didn't think you'd live long enough to strut again."
Kay raised an eyebrow behind the mask. "Ryoshu, right? Still murdering for art?"
"Art's all there is," she replied dryly, smoke curling from her lips. "Though I gotta admit, that little show back there, when you beat up those gangsters... had form. Rhythm. Didn't expect that from suits."
The rest of the Sinners hung back, Faust adjusting her gloves while observing everyone with owl-like disinterest.
Yi Sang glancing skyward as though trying to calculate the angles of time itself; Heathcliff cracking his knuckles with a growl, eyeing Bright like he owed him money.
Dante said nothing, but their gaze lingered on Kay.
Clef took a casual step forward, strumming his ukulele. "And here I thought we were the weirdos. Who are your friends, Ryo?"
Ryoshu flicked her cigarette away, then jabbed a thumb at the bus. "Sinners. This is our ride, Mephisto. Don't touch it unless you want your soul bartered for spare parts."
Bright squinted at the thing. "Is it sentient?"
"Worse," said Faust without looking at him. "It listens."
Cain, ever calm, folded his arms. "Why are you here?"
That's when Don Quixote burst forward with the speed of a lightning bolt on espresso.
"HALT, VILE VILLAINS, wait, no, companions of justice! I, Sir Quixote of District, recognize you now!" She pointed her lance at Clef and wobbled dramatically. "You, minstrel of gunfire and songs! And thee, masked one, I hath seen thine valor in the street afar!"
Kay held up a hand, trying not to laugh. "Alright, alright. Deep breath, Sir Quixote. We're not enemies."
Ryoshu sighed and looked at Dante. "They're building something here. New base. Real big. Real quiet. Probably looking to tame the District. Maybe even the City"
"Typical," Meursault muttered behind her, emotionless.
Hong Lu gave a cheerful wave to the Foundation group. "Hi! Are you the government?"
"We're... something like that," Kay said.
Then, Ryoshu grinned, a slow, dangerous curl of the lip. "So, here's the real question. We're low on bus juice. Your mask crew just made a bunch of fresh meat outta those gangsters."
She jabbed her chin toward the sprawled bodies. "Think we can use 'em for fuel?"
The entire Foundation team paused.
"What the hell do you mean, fuel?" Bright asked, recoiling.
Faust stepped forward. "The Mephistopheles operates on a rather esoteric energy source. Organic matter is acceptable. Criminals are preferred. Efficiency is morality, after all."
Clef looked at Kay. "I think I'm gonna throw up."
Kay just sighed.
"You're telling me your bus eats people."
"Consumes them," Ryoshu clarified. "Artfully."
Bright held up a finger. "Now hold on, morally gray, ethically questionable, possibly anomalous..."
Clef elbowed him. "That's our turf."
Kay shook his head. "Do what you want with the bodies. They picked the fight."
The sinners looked at one another with silent approval.
Dante raised a hand, fingers clicking like a wind-up key.
Mephistopheles stirred, the groan of steel and spirit mingling as mechanical appendages slithered out, slowly pulling the broken gangsters into its belly.
The process was bizarrely surgical.
Kay turned away before he had to see too much. "Let's talk business," he said. "We're setting up underground. Site D-2. Safe zone. Resources. Shelter. We could use... people with your talents."
Yi Sang finally spoke, voice soft as mist: "We are not people. We are constructs of ruin."
"Even better," Kay muttered. "Welcome to the neighborhood."
...
District D, Unfinished Site D-2 — 48 meters below surface level
The unfinished halls of Site D-2 echoed with activity.
Bare concrete walls still exposed rebar in places, humming with the sound of hastily installed fluorescent lights.
Temporary scaffolding lined the upper levels as Foundation personnel moved with structured efficiency, establishing command terminals, security systems, and containment zones.
Despite the skeletal frame of the site, one could already sense the invisible pulse of power, the quiet tension of a place meant to hold back the unknown.
The negotiations were held in a makeshift conference chamber: a room with no ceiling panels, patched wiring overhead, and a circular table hastily assembled from repurposed lab equipment and reinforced shielding slabs.
One side of the table was occupied by Dante, seated silently with his mechanical halo slowly rotating behind his head.
Flanking him were Faust, expression poised and distant, and Outis, arms crossed, eyes sharp like a commander ready for war.
Across from them, a humanoid drone hovered slightly above its chair, the sleek black exoshell marked with a thin silver crest resembling the O5 Council's insignia.
Its voice output was modulated, emotionless.
"You will speak. We will listen. Decide wisely."
Beside the drone sat Dr. Gears, posture perfect, hands folded on the table. His calm, measured tone contrasted the drone's dispassion.
Several researchers were present, including Dr. Eliah, an expert in cross-dimensional diplomacy, and Site Director Halvors, a former ambassador during the GOC–Foundation contact years, now pressed back into service.
The conversation began in practiced formality.
Faust adjusted her gloves before speaking. "This one is named Faust. She represents an organization known as Limbus Company. While our mission is not the same as your organization, we mainly search for the Golden Broughs "
Outis added, "We seek coexistence, not conquest. District D has no particular ruler. The Wings are fragmented here. Your foundation is... efficient. We believe mutual cooperation would be advantageous."
Dr. Gears nodded once. "And in exchange?"
Faust tilted her head slightly, as if already knowing the question. "We offer traversal data. Gate routes between the City. Our Mephistopheles can extract being in the fractured reality, a service we know your people lack access to in this world."
The drone leaned forward.
"And what do you want in return?"
Dante finally spoke, voice gentle yet oddly hollow. "Overall assistances. Sanctuary. And resources. A place to rest... to breathe. Your facility is surprisingly advanced"
...
Elsewhere in Site D-2:
In a corner of the temporary rec deck, Don Quixote screamed with delight.
"BEHOLD! A BLOBBY SERAPHIM OF JOYOUS DESIGN!" she cried, cradling SCP-999 like a child with their first puppy.
The slimy orange creature giggled in response, smothering her in a euphoric wave of harmless pseudopods.
A few nearby security guards had collapsed into laughter from SCP-999's effect, and Don had tears in her eyes.
"I SHALT NAME THEE... BOUNCY-KNIGHT!"
Down another hall, Hong Lu sat cross-legged on the floor with two Foundation janitors and a Gateworld elven sentry, sipping from a thermos of shared coffee.
"So... these pipes carry warm water underground? Fascinating. It's like a maze of hot springs," he mused, eyes wide. "Do you all live here? Underground, with steel skies and electric suns?"
The elf blinked slowly. "Yes."
Hong Lu gasped. "How poetic!"
...
Near the south scaffolding, on break:
Ryoshu stood leaned against a structural beam, blowing a plume of smoke from her nose.
Her eyes, perpetually half-lidded, trailed lazily toward Kay, who stood beside her sipping black coffee from a ration tin.
"You weren't kidding when you said you work with freaks" Ryoshu murmured. "Your guys scream 'psych ward in a trench coat.'"
Kay chuckled, mask muffling it slightly. "Takes one to know one. You still painting corpses?"
"Always." She flicked ash to the floor. "District D has good canvas. Real expressive guts here."
Kay tilted his head. "You're morbid."
"I'm honest," she replied. "Same as you. Why'd you B.T.S here? District D ain't paradise."
"BTS? The male idol group?"
"Build the site"
Kay glanced toward the negotiation chamber. "Because someone has to make sure the next apocalypse has a script."
Ryoshu grinned. "Heh, Artistic."
...
Cafeteria:
The large metal-paneled mess hall buzzed with laughter and noise.
Dr. Clef is playing a song for Rodion and Yi Sang, something he always do with his anomalous daughters, SCP-166.
"It sound really nice Clef"
"I'm not good with expression, but i do like it a lot Director"
"Glad ya like it pals"
Dr. Bright, feet kicked up on a bench, was sharing Foundation-grade chili with Gregor, Heathcliff, Sinclair, and Ishmael.
"Try this," Bright said, motioning toward SCP-294, the anomalous coffee machine nestled in a reinforced corner. "Ask it for anything. I once got liquid anxiety from it. Tasted like citrus and regret."
Gregor, skeptical, stepped forward and spoke into the machine: "Coffee... made from the blood of our enemies."
The machine whirred and dispensed a steaming cup.
Heathcliff took it, sipped, and then gave a grunt. "Tastes like whiskey and gunpowder. Damn, I like it."
Sinclair hesitated. "Uh... I'll try... 'Mom's hot cocoa'?"
A perfect replica poured out, and his eyes welled up slightly.
Ishmael simply asked for "a sea without sorrow." What came out smelled faintly of salt and hibiscus.
Cain, watching from the corner, quietly requested nothing. He stood in silence, watching the others, taking in the moment.
Back in the conference room:
The discussion neared its end.
Faust had provided schematics, and Outis delivered a rough index of enemy-aligned factions within District D.
Dante signed off the terms by slowly reaching out, placing a hand atop the drone's offered limb.
"Acknowledged" the drone said. "The Foundation recognizes Limbus Company as a provisional allied entity under the Site D-2 Charter. Support will be limited, but reciprocal."
Director Halvors added with a rare smile "Congratulations. You've made friends in a place that devours them."
Outis blinked, surprised. Faust simply nodded. "This one finds that agreeable."
And for a moment, just a heartbeat, something unspoken passed between the two worlds.
The beginning of trust. The fragile seed of alliance.
Later that evening:
The corridors of Site D-2 echoed with the low hum of turbines, security drills, and idle conversation.
Mephistopheles remained parked in the lower loading bay, guarded but no longer seen as a threat. For now, it was part of something bigger.
Kay stood alone for a brief moment at the railing overlooking the unfinished reactor chamber, watching the scaffolding lights blink like stars.
Behind him, Ryoshu approached again, dragging her smoke.
"You Foundation types are crazy to work with us" she muttered.
"Maybe, we've done worse deal" Kay replied.
"But," she added, "you just might survive this place."
"We'll see"