John walks through the grounds of the mansion, trying to push those thoughts out of his head. He closes his eyes and simply listens to the sounds of the environment, which begins to calm him.
The sound of the wind rustling the leaves is deeply relaxing. It seems this was the "therapy" he had been looking for. With so many things happening in such a short period of time, who wouldn't feel this way? Disturbed and scarred.
He breathes in and out, continuing the rhythm to maintain his composure. It doesn't work as well as he imagined. Opening his eyes, he realizes he is near the mansion.
He sees a beautiful fountain with crystal-clear water—a sight that would normally leave anyone in awe. In John, it triggers nothing. As he draws closer, he sees his reflection in the water. His face was wrecked. He had deep dark circles under his eyes and scars across his face from his long, fruitless search.
He looks ahead, once again ignoring his own existence. Until now, John had shown no emotion other than anguish, worry, and coldness. Where would this journey lead? It had been three years without a single result. Was it still worth continuing? Or was it just a lack of motivation to do anything else? It seemed... the latter.
John looked up at the sky, which was beautiful and filled with stars. It was a pity the light pollution drowned out the glow of so many of them. He just stood there, motionless.
His mind went blank. He used that moment to contemplate the night sky, which was quite relaxing. At the very least, he was getting some rest. But he couldn't stay for long. He had to keep going. He needed to. That was the only reason he remained determined.
He turned his gaze forward and saw a grand staircase leading to the two large entrance doors. One was already open—the young man had likely left it that way. How careless.
John climbed the stairs to enter the mansion when he heard rapid footsteps behind him, getting closer and closer. John grew alert, but when he turned around, he saw... Morbius running toward the door. It seemed John had worried for nothing.
John stepped inside, and from what he could see, it was nothing short of extraordinary. The place was highly refined. Everything was clean and well-organized, filled with expensive items: a comfortable sofa, a plush rug, and ceiling lamps that flooded the room with light. The space was immense.
Right behind the living room was a grand staircase leading to the second floor.
Halfway up, the stairs split in two, leading in different directions. He observed the stairs and noticed the second floor was also well-lit, which raised a question: how was this being powered? There was a power source, but what? These were John's biggest questions at the moment, but deep down, he already knew. There were likely generators, but how were they still running?
The destruction had been massive; were they perhaps preserved underground? That's what it seemed like. Probably.
But it was still suspicious. Of course, there would be a bunker if a situation like this happened and they had to face it.
"How do you have power?" John asked loudly.
Morbius and the young man were surprised by the question. The young man was sitting crudely on the sofa, while Morbius sat in an armchair across from him, sipping tea.
The two exchanged surprised looks, then the young man looked at John, laughing under his breath, while Morbius slowly shook his head from side to side. John just stood there, confused.
"It's a long story," the young man replied, standing up from the sofa.
"I have time," John replied with a hint of irony.
The young man smiled and started walking toward a door next to the stairs.
"Come with me," he said, glancing back at John.
John looked at Morbius, who simply nodded, indicating he should follow the boy. John followed him into a room filled with equipment and machinery.
"Dude... cough cough... isn't it obvious?" the young man mocked.
"What?" John still didn't understand.
"They're generators, dammit," the boy replied.
Apparently, John's hypothesis was correct: they were all generators. John began to remember a basement filled with gallon drums of ethanol, but by contrast, that place had been dusty, full of spiderwebs and insects. The floor was made of old wood that creaked loudly. The place was lit only by a flashlight held by a man, while John—then a very young child—followed him.
As they walked, they stopped near some giant machines. There were three massive power generators—expensive, state-of-the-art, highly technological, and filled with the best parts on the market.
"They run on fuel, right?" John asked.
"Exactly! We have a huge stockpile of ethanol, diesel, and whatever else makes these beauties run! I find it incredible that after three years, our stock hasn't even hit the halfway mark. Holy shit, the people who lived here were legends! Too bad they seemed like lunatics. No one would have imagined we'd actually have a massive Apocalypse. You know?! It's fucking crazy!! You just can't believe it, man. It's like they were Oda! They were geniuses!" The young man spoke with pure excitement.
"Forgive him; excitement can take us to great heights, can't it? Ha! Ha! Ha!" Morbius said sarcastically. "Please, sit down. We haven't introduced ourselves yet."
John sat on the sofa next to the boy.
"So... who starts? The gentleman here already knows my name, so I'm no stranger," Morbius said, taking a sip of his tea.
"Fine! I guess I should start," the young man said, jumping up and putting his foot on the center table. He puffed out his chest and crossed his arms in a grand display.
"My name is Bill Cipher, the owner of this badass mansion. I'm an incredible guy; the girls love me. I've got charm, I'm filthy rich, and I'm famous as hell—especially on TikTok. I've been with every kind of woman, bought the most amazing things, done the craziest shit... and there's more! I'm the best character in this plot that nobody cares about." He flopped back onto the sofa in an undignified heap. "That's it."
John looked at him with disgust.
"Well, I guess it's my turn... My name is John Harris. I've been out here for three years... looking for someone. I don't know if she's alive or dead, and honestly, I don't care. I just want to know where she is!" John said with determination. This was what kept him going—the need to find her, even if he found her in the worst state. All that mattered was going to the end; only that would console his "loss."
"It would help me a lot if you knew anything about this person." John figured that if they could actually help, there was no harm in sharing a little.
"What does she look like?"
"A blonde girl, about 16 years old now. She'd be wearing blue jeans and a black hoodie." (These weren't necessarily the exact details, but that's how old she would be now. If she were alive, they might know something.)
Bill and Morbius thought about the girl, but nothing came to mind.
"We've never met anyone like that," they said in unison.
John looked disappointed.
"Come on, man, don't be like that. We gave it our best shot, okay?" Bill said, trying to cheer him up. "Anyway, what is this girl to you, exactly?"
"...My daughter," John said.
"Oh, I thought it was something else," Bill said, thinking to himself, "I thought he was some kind of creep." His face went pale, his eyes narrowed, and he broke into a slight sweat.
"Well, I haven't seen anyone like that either. I'm sorry," Morbius added.
"No, it's okay. I just got my hopes up," John said, looking at the ceiling.
John stared fixedly at the ceiling, thinking of nothing. It seemed he wanted nothing more than this: tranquility. Silence. He finally heard the silence. In three years, he had never enjoyed such peace. Most of his days were spent searching for Lisa without rest.
He looked at the chandelier and a memory surfaced: a woman fallen on the floor, her head bleeding.
He jumped off the sofa. His face was pale, his expression frozen. Bill and Morbius were startled and confused. Morbius walked over and placed a hand on his back.
"Are you okay?"
John was still processing the image. For a few seconds, he saw himself in a void—a white square. On the floor was only the body of that woman. Blood from her head began to spread across the room, reaching John. In his hallucination, his body was covered in blood. Then... he snapped back to consciousness.
He stood up quickly, staring at his hands in total desperation, trembling. Bill and Morbius, fearing what he might do, began looking for weapons.
John looked at them, saw their reaction, and began to calm down.
"...It's fine, guys. I'm not going to do anything."
Bill and Morbius stopped. They exchanged a nod and acted as if nothing had happened.
"Alright, I think we should get some sleep, right? It's getting late," Bill suggested.
"You're right... I think I need to rest a bit."
"We have several guest rooms. I'll show you to one," Morbius said.
Morbius led the way up the stairs to the left corridor. He opened a door, revealing a long hallway lined with rooms. "Pick any one. They are all clean and ready."
John looked at the doors and saw one with a poster hanging on it. It was dirty, but recognizable as a video game poster. It featured a blonde man with bangs covering part of his face, wearing a grey shirt with black stripes, fingerless gloves, and holding a pistol. In the background was a red sky, a church, and a man with a burlap sack on his head holding a chainsaw.
Without a second thought, John walked toward that room.
"For some reason, this room brings back memories I didn't want to remember," John thought.
Something flashed in his mind. A red light appeared behind him. John spun around; the red light was streaming through the windows, bathing the corridor in a crimson hue. Everything was tinted red, including John. He opened the curtain and briefly saw a bleeding eye—pupils dilated, surrounded by red cracks. A second later, everything was back to normal.
John wasn't even impressed; he was used to these visions, though never quite like this. He simply entered the room with the poster and chose to ignore the shadows haunting his mind.