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The Status Quo
Meursault joined Limbus Company not for some ideal or want, Meursault joined the company because it gave him an option to live after being condemned to death for a murder.
Meursault was not given much information when it came to signing a contract with Limbus Company. That fact wasn't surprising, most companies in the city have their secrets akin to singularities.
What was surprising was that the company gave fresh and unproven employees access to something quite powerful. The ability to resurrect in the form they were given gave them protection, even from complete annihilation. It was unheard of, was it not more logical to monetize such a method over using it on a select few.
Still, he found himself desiring to know more, death in many ways should be final, your last punishment for living. That is the nature of the city and its taboos and punishments.
The ability to know more was more likely a reward and the selection of the employees that were given this power left him doubtful that he would ever know. The current state of the bus and its employees left much to be desired.
They had failed their first assignment, something that could earn a grave punishment depending on the company policy. The morose, sad atmosphere colored the bus in a metaphorical overcast. It seems the others would not get their wish as easily as they thought.
That morose atmosphere was compounded by the blood covering practically everything on the floors and chairs, he would hope that immortality wouldn't immediately lead to a lack of self-care.
He would grumble if he were a more simple man, controlled purely by emotions rather than the rationality afforded to him.
Meursault was not simple; he would rather call himself boring as he gives the world exactly what it gives him, so he held his tongue instead.
He.l had not been asked to speak, he had been told to follow orders. There was no need to have a voice when others existed that either knew more or were more willing than him.
Voicing one’s irritations wasn’t productive or wanted, it was much simpler and more acceptable to keep all of it internal.
The Perfect Soldier
Gregor finds himself annoyed with Meursault. The man was a soldier that any commander would be drooling at the chance to have.
He didn't ask questions, he didn't hesitate, he would perform a task to the letter. That kind of apathy and drive was dangerous. Gregor had seen the kind of people that it made during the smoke war. He would see people reduced to the lowest they could be just because they wouldn’t say no to their superior, he would watch them become more mad as they became just as desperate to win as those who would actually gain something. There was no pride in being just a tool or an object.
Gregor wanted to shake him, to ask him why in the world he does that. He wants to know if there’s something behind the mask Meursault kept.
Though maybe there was something else to his annoyance, all Gregor did was flee, at least Meursault would stand in spite of things. Maybe not exactly spite, but the way Meursault had stared at him judgmentally while looking at his arm certainly made things difficult. Meursault had a backbone of apathy that Gregor wishes he could have. The man didn’t burden anyone, that’s for sure.
Maybe that perceived apathy was a shell, but considering how the man tore into for daring to make food not up to whatever his standard was. For Gregor, the apathetic man didn’t seem complex, the man seemed petty.
But Gregor didn’t want to rock the boat with any anger or friction, so he held his tongue. Maybe Gregor could prove his own skill during another time.
Irritations
Meursault's judgement only plays out internally more often than not. His thoughts would only reach others when he was called upon to share them.
Though he cannot help the way his brow threatens to furrow at the way the others have done things with the tact that would make a dull-witted fool seem like the smartest in the room.
The sinners were highly unprofessional, and yet Meursault could still see how their “turns” –as the sinners had taken to calling them– were designed to break them.
He then did not judge their actions as harshly during their turns because those actions were emblematic of them at their worst.
What he did judge, then, was their behavior during any other time where they existed in the same space as him.
He could list things off by the dozen for each sinner, their combined list of infractions and faux paus an eternity long.
He could not understand or feel the way the others did as they spoke with such intensity. He did not need to. He had observed Don Quixote’s abrasiveness in the name of justice. He had observed the anger Heathcliff held. He had seen the ways that the others would skirt the rules just for the ability to act out their own ideals.
It is flawed to believe in your superiority over other humans in totality, Meursault is human.
What caught his attention the most is how raw Dante’s emotions have been, Meursault can clearly see how the actions and personalities of the sinners bleed into them. They were a sponge, the lack of memory didn’t take away their humanity but it made them moldable.
Perhaps due to that his greatest judgement was for the quickly evolving manager, they were kind because they learned from others. They had simply found that kindness led to a solution of getting a golden bough and cruelty didn’t. Meursault wonders if that was intentional. That they needed to erase someone’s concept of the city for a leader to be kind.
And yet the fact that Dante chose this path in the first place implies they knew enough about what would happen, and he wonders instead what the manager wanted to forget.
The Perfect Soldier
Outis finds Meursault to be one of the few sinners that has earned her respect, even if just slightly. He was a perfect soldier by all accounts, he didn't hesitate, he didn't ask questions, and he was bluntly accurate with any task he performed.
Though she had some doubts about his continued usefulness, he was the perfect soldier, sure, but he would be a terrible second in command. After all, a lieutenant has to speak their mind in order to not let their commander stray. And they have to have the ability to command in the first place.
Even with her awareness that Meursault may voice his opinion if prompted she still finds it less than ideal. A lieutenant socially has to be careful to keep their position, to be bluntly critical of their commander is a quick path to demotion. And those factors were indeed why she was a better lieutenant than any of her ignoble "competition."
Upon further observation she thought the man’s primary flaws were pertaining to a social ineptitude that could be trained but he was rather resistant to any of her prompting or advice.
That resistance then caught her suspicion. The man was a perfect soldier that followed orders, but was it a facade? A spy with no morals would very easily have a time making themself indispensable if they acted like him. His refusal to engage may be a way of emotional distancing or a way to not reveal himself.
She would have to observe more before saying anything, someone has to jump at shadows so that the executive manager could keep looking forward. She would gladly take that plunge if it meant their mission continued to succeed and she would get what she wanted.
Love or Pleasure
Meursault does not think he gets love. He understood Pleasure, Pleasure was understandable, everyone that has ever experienced the high of living would know it. Pleasure was the release from the boredom that life afforded him.
But love on its own felt too… abstract. It was illogical to love someone, to tie yourself down emotionally with some sort of vow or seal. What need was there to declare your love when you were already doing everything good about a relationship?
All vows did was add a negative element, to be bound is to be restricted. And in that way he wonders why a rejection of vows was such a sin. Why would he want to include such negativity when they both were already together and gaining pleasure.
It was logical to respond to rejection by withdrawing and straying away, he wonders why she stayed after such a push. And he wonders what he did that caused her to finally decide not to be tied down to a dead man who could never give her what she wanted. It is more than likely she found another Meursault, one that agreed with her more, maybe even said yes to marriage. She deserves that much, at least, though that isn’t for him to judge or care about.
Meursault wonders if he’ll see her again and his body acts against him, his heart beats quickens at the prospect and its inevitability. He does not continue to think about it.
Familiar Apathy
Ishmael pities Meursault. The reasons why don't elude her, she knows exactly why she feels that pity.
His apathy, the way he just follows orders and treats everything with the same gravity. It just feels far, far too familiar, she knew the feeling once like a blindfold. There was no bliss in her own former apathy, just an all consuming boredom consulted only by the companionship of anxiety.
She loathed it, she would rather throw herself into near-certain death than spend another day consumed by a shark that refused to just finish her off. She watched the world blend together as the city marched towards death with pride only afforded to by a random office worker in a nest instead of the backstreats.
She knows not everyone’s the same but she doesn’t get how Meursault can even be close to satisfied with his current position. Is he blind to boredom, does he care about anything that isn’t staring at others and waiting for orders? His eyes bore into her like the sun and yet he barely reacts to the glare she responds with. She feels judged, she doesn’t like it.
Hell, she wonders if the man even cares about anyone. Did he have any friends before this or did he just coast by saying yes to whoever. Did those people leave or were they contractually destined to be “friends.”
But those assumptions don’t even line up properly. She sees those little hints of complexity where Meursault somehow reveals what he likes, where he reveals he is, in fact, a person. The man’s been to clubs before, he doesn’t say no to going out drinking unless he wants silence, he apparently even likes swimming.
He doesn’t even hide those facts, he just thinks that it’s irrelevant to even say. She’s curious because he hides things.
He acts in apathy but his personal actions exist with a sort of desire for pleasure that doesn’t fit her initial judgment of him.
His personality should be an open book with how he seems but all she sees is the cover.
Ishmael groans in irritation as she gathers herself, it’s not good to get this frustrated at something this inconsequential.
Though, in spite of her irritation at his paradox or not-paradox she can’t help but respect him. He does his job and he does it well. He can be blunt and judgemental and rude at times but she can’t exactly talk about that herself.
Ishmael pities Meursault cause he’s both familiar and not, and she wonders what made him that way.
Agreeable Deferment
Meursault feels something strange and unfamiliar as the sinners perform their familiar routine. He had been asked questions, included in spite of his typical silence.
He can't name the way his perfect posture feels a bit more straight. The way his hands at his sides relax. His eyes feel more aware. It felt similar to the raw feelings of corrosion.
Pride.
But it was a strange type of pride with little else to relate to. Why would he feel pride at doing what he is meant to do? He simply acted in a logical manner that caused the least friction and answered the other’s questions.
They ask him about things like fashion or any other mundane topic and he could answer. That was not much for pride to latch onto, anyone that knew trivia would know the exact same things. Faust would likely explain it better than him.
He’s looking away from the others, unaware of the smallest upturn of his lips that quickly leaves him. Meursault does not smile because there is nothing to smile about, the world is boring after all.
There’s something different about himself, he wonders not when he noticed but he names it at this moment.
The journey has changed him, being on the bus has made him do things he wouldn’t do before. It’s hard to reflect on that fact because how can he know he’s changed when so little time has passed. Is he so easily convinced by the honeyed words of others that believe in redemption over punishment.
It would be illogical to consider a person to be a monolith, even he is not exempt from that ruling. Meursault has spoken out of turn; he has occasionally voiced his opinions without being prompted.
The confinement of the bus is a paradox, because as a prisoner he has never felt more alive and free. Restrictions bring a unique sort of perspective. When he cannot choose, every choice he can take becomes valuable.
Meursault does not know how to feel, he wonders why it matters.
Irrational
To Don Quixote, Meursault was irrational. Even more so after she had been relieved of her amnesia. He let the world take him and maybe not make him cruel but it made him apathetic. That fate was all too common in the city in the many years she has resided within it.
But she still cannot truly comprehend it. How do you live in this world by ignoring every wrong in front of you? Her persona, the one of Don Quixote the fixer from Limbus Company, is not born from naivety; it is in many ways her core belief. If she cannot act as a hero and try to help others, what point is there to existence? The world needs people that are willing to be heroic fixers, they need stories that tell them they can do, not what they cannot. Stories make the world, it allows you to relate to what you are not.
Bari was an excellent storyteller, Don Quixote can be as well.
After all, a person can be inspired to be better by just hearing that the people around them did too.
Meursault seems uninspired, he has changed slightly but not by much.
Don Quixote knows the world exists for you to make your mark, for you to do what you want and what you need. The world will not let you be your best self, you still have to work for it but working is better than stagnating. Don Quixote knows that, she will know it for however long she may live in the future.
She carries burdens and guilt, but she perseveres. She hopes that Meursault can do the same.
Irrationality
There is a draining energy to Don Quixote’s actions for Meursault that he finds to be quite irrational. She simply has too much energy for him to rationalize.
She preaches in a way, she will tell her stories about the way things have to be and ignore the rest for the sake of her message. Her tales give no complexity to a point where he finds them boring and easy to tune out.
How can a world where everything ends the same be affected by such actions of heroism. It’s irrational to try and lift others when they refuse to be lifted. There’s no logic in saving people other than for your own ego.
A life at its most basic point is a collection of decisions one makes before their death, you do one thing and deny the other.
The way of the city and its rules is selfishness, you prioritize yourself above others because it’s dangerous to care. And putting yourself in danger for mere pride is dangerous. Meursault watched as Don Quixote tried to kill them after taking off her shoes, how can she be expected to do good without them.
It’s illogical to expect a mercenary to be a hero without incentive, or to expect society to uphold what is seen as good rather than what is law.
In the end, the sinners deal with abnormalities not because it’s right but because they’re getting paid to. They only have some emotional catharsis because the company wants it to happen for them to collect the golden boughs.
Meursault finds Don Quixote irrational because he cannot fathom the way she cares.
Judgement of Corrosion
Dante has the privilege of a bird's eye and also the responsibility of it. They have to manage the sinners and help them where they can. That’s why they do their consultations, that’s why they make themself vulnerable. It is the responsibility of a manager to uplift those below them to become the best they can be, doing less is simply not doing your job.
The new version of the mirror dungeon is hard and cruel, it takes trial and error to find the right packs in order to not die immediately. It seems the ever so wise manager has once again chosen wrong due to not having any information given beforehand.
So the fact that they were seeing Meursault’s sanity drop was expected but it still fills them with dread. Lost clash after lost clash makes him fall further. Dante knows what will happen, he’ll corrode and maybe he’ll die but another sinner will definitely die from his corrosion.
Failure is not guaranteed when they take the costs into account, there’s still a chance of victory, so they continue instead of quitting. Completing the tasks of the mirror dungeon gives them things that make real fights easier. It’s better to fail in the reflection than anywhere else.
Though, their attempt at trying to find a moral to their decision doesn’t compare to the real corrosion that they watch as Meursault's visage changes. The sinners utter the same words each time, the abnormality unchanging no matter the situation.
“Head… turning into… metal… brain… flattened… Ends. Begins. ENDS. BEGINS!”
Dante did not know much about the abnormality known as the Forsaken Murderer but they knew the name of the E.G.O. was Regret. It was not hard to see the cruelty inflicted on the self and others, it was just hard to find the reason.
Another sinner dies, blood comes from both of them.
Meursault smashes his own metal head into the ground, a weapon of suffering. Dante tries to hold onto the words, the corrosions always show at least something about the sinners.
And yet attention doesn't help the fact that they can’t understand, they don’t know enough about Meursault to cast judgement. They can’t figure out why he resonated with an abnormality like this, they don’t know what feelings lie underneath a man that doesn’t voice them.
Dante regrets that they can’t do more when Meursault dies from an attack he couldn’t oppose and two other sinners rush into the places of the fallen.
Jury and Execution (Or lack thereof)
Rage and Irritation, no matter how irrational they may be, was something that everyone felt.
Today happened.
Meursault had felt the blood, the bindings of a straight jacket. He felt the desire to bang his head into the ground, pulverize it further so he wouldn't be forced to live in this perverse mockery of life. The ringing was so loud. He couldn't tell if his own heart was beating or the metal had penetrated his very mind.
His world was supposed to end as a prisoner, he would die ceremoniously by execution. He is still a prisoner, but now he stays alive. It was only natural to want to live in spite of what others thought he ought to have been. It's the feeling of perseverance that inspires you to find love in hospice care, so close to death. The emotion that makes your life flash before your eyes right before the end. End and beginning are one in the same until you are in the dirt and can feel neither.
He had killed someone, he did not show remorse, their judgements were the character rather than the crime. The world didn't care about that, he had killed, he was soulless, the city mocks him as a prisoner to die over and over again to raucous applause. His life would end and begin and end and begin and end and begin–
He wavers into self-multilation, his voice distorted into rambling, it doesn't matter if it's about rage or pain.
It is later that Meursault is alive and blinded by the oppressive light of the mirror dungeon as he opens his eyes. He must've died, though the elements of corrosion lingered like vines covering over his recollection of the moments before. Perhaps it is for the better that his mind doesn’t think about it.
The light of the sky basked him in an artificial glow because he knew it was not the true glow; the sun did not reside in a mirror, only a reflection of it did. He wonders if he looks like a corpse before being dragged to the pyre.
His ears ring too, louder than the droning voices of concern he had already tuned out. He wishes it were like windchimes, something oppressive and loud but pleasant enough to ignore. What he wanted to rest, to sleep it off and continue his routine he had no desire to break.
Meursault knew logically that E.G.O was not unrelated to the sinners. It was like putting a funhouse mirror behind your back, not a perfect reflection but still an alteration of you. And it was always something inconvenient, something that would make normal people judge. Those fleeting emotions were better left to be explained by people who understood it better; Meursault was no expert in understanding E.G.O.
He was already a condemned man, and in a way the alternative power of identities felt like they were… preaching to him.
They told him about all the different decisions he could've made. They said that if he took a step to the left he would be a different person.
But that's the thing, in spite of the other sinner's occasional fear or shame these identities were not them. These possibilities did not make the choices the sinners did, it's Irrational to dwell on the what-ifs because they can't change now. What is there to not understand? Why can't he understand, why don’t they understand his point?
And yet, the most detailed soliloquy in the world could not stop his ears from ringing. He silently goes from the completed Mirror Dungeon to his room and the comfort of privacy. He ignores the looks of concern from the others because it doesn't make sense. They judge him with pity, it’s a common reaction of humanity when another has an outburst. Meursault still leaves because he conceives no other option.h
His room is simple, yet more roomy than a cell. It gives him the opportunity to move around and avoid the gaze of the false eyes around him.
He gets to stand in front of a mirror, aware of how neat his clothes are in spite of the blood that had gushed out of him when he died and then brought back.
He doesn't understand many things, he doesn't think he needs to. He is content with boredom because it has been his only companion his entire life. The laws and rules have existed because society has made them.
The irony is that even in the cruelty and absurdity of the city, killing is still coated in shame. It is never noble, the execution, it's simply a necessity for breaking the status quo. There can be no beginning like another because those of lower standing are condemned the moment they are born.
They are simply prisoners waiting to commit a mistake that angers their omnipotent wardens, and be met with the callous embrace of death. But even without them they still die, inevitably, because everything will die no matter how much you refuse its apathetic embrace.
The city believes as much, snuffing out a life is a crime and a necessity. It has to be respected, because it is the most grave punishment one can give.
If you remove death then what is society protecting? What is it harming?
Meursault can see both perspectives, yet he finds no value in taking a side.
It's infinite growth if you can't die, you can always do everything. You have no constraints. And yet constraints feel like the only thing you can hold onto. An immortal will inevitably be stronger than a newborn. How much time does it take for that gap to be so grand that no one is able to catch up.
But what is the point if you're so constrained by fear that you do nothing anyhow. Death should be an equalizer, it should be true. Because the only constant in life is that you are born and then you die.
In the end death requires the cooperation of the oligarchs and the common citizen. Because the society of the city needs an absolute punishment. Yet the absurdity of cloning and resurrection and all these loopholes reminds him that the chains don't care, they don't remember, they simply bind. It’s familiar in a way.
He pauses, his hands have been gripping the edges of shirt, a point beyond simply adjusting his collar.
Meursault's hands have often been cramped recently, the constant resurrections have not been perfect. He finds his breathing calm at the assertion, it turns into something more neutral and normal to him.
He will die, he will also live. This company has given him a lease from his inevitable death, a way to work for the rent of life. But a lease does not last forever, not even in the esoteric rules of the city. But this has been a beginning still, he cannot deny that. You can begin even at the end of your life. He should know.
His thoughts are interrupted by noise.
There's a knock on his door, the pattern isn't consistent but that's how he knows it's Gregor. There's no pressing concern or urgency, the Sinners have time off currently; Meursault still isn't fond of overtime.
It didn't take him long to gather himself, there wasn't much to gather about him anyhow.
Meursault ends up opening his door bluntly and listens in silence as the old soldier invites him to something in far too many words than necessary. The activity in question is to go to some old bar during their next stop.
The offer makes Meursault think.
He thinks about cheap beer and a terrible atmosphere and music that he hears but ignores. The sinners talking about some nonsense soon to be dragged to halt by alcohol.
What he does not think about is the complications that the sinners might typically incur with their rowdiness and their typical ignorance of societal conventions.
Meursault accepts the offer.