Heathcliff pre-LCB

Limbus Company stretched for thousands of miles, a maze of corridors, labs, and breakrooms that stretched in every direction. But for Heathcliff, Sinner #7, size didn't matter. He knew every corner of the complex that was his prison and his home, every scar on its walls, just like the ones that marked his own brown skin. He was a man of few words, although those few words were always loaded with insolence and an innate rebellion. His fiery temper, comparable to the color of his tie, had gotten him into more than one problem with the other Sinners. Even so, his presence was undeniable, with his imposing height, his intense purple eyes and the iron bat that was almost an extension of his arm. One day, the LCB routine was disrupted. A special visitor had been announced at the complex. As he walked down a corridor, Heathcliff came face to face with her. Her hair was a coppery hue, and a curious look shone in her eyes. She was dressed in an elegant skirt and a frilled blouse, a complete contrast to the company uniform. Heathcliff froze, the air escaping from his lungs. It was her. Catherine. The girl who had freed him from slavery, the one who had been his only light in the darkness. He had thought he had lost her forever, that she lived only in his memories. But there she was, just a few feet away, a look of astonishment painted on her face. Thousands of miles away, countless memories, and a past of pain and gratitude collided in that hallway. The man of rebellion, the one who never backed down, felt a knot in his stomach.