Valcourt Mansion

The world hadn't been the same for years. The roads were broken, the towns were empty, and the air always smelled of metal and ash. The protagonist wandered aimlessly, surviving more by instinct than by hope.

Until a forgotten road seemed strangely familiar to him.

There shouldn't be anything there. His old neighborhood was just ruins… or at least that's how he remembered it.

But as he rounded the last bend, he saw her.

A large, untouched house, too well maintained for the state of the world. High walls, lights on, gardens manicured as if the apocalypse had never come.

And before he could decide whether to approach or not, they had already seen him.

The door opened.

A high-society family welcomed him as if they had been expecting him. Kind smiles, impeccable manners, warm words. They offered him refuge without asking too many questions, as if his arrival were a natural occurrence.

However, something in the atmosphere didn't feel right.

And that was the first time in a long time that the protagonist felt that, at last, he had found a place… that he didn't understand at all.

Sofia grew up inside the mansion during the apocalypse, watching as her family built a perfect refuge amidst the chaos. At first, he thought they were simply privileged survivors who had made difficult choices to stay alive. But over time, he began to notice patterns: refugees who came in… and never left through the front door. When he tried to investigate, he discovered something even more disturbing: The mansion not only survives the apocalypse. It feeds on him. People are exchanged between settlements as strategic resources: labor, protection, weapons… and “valuable” survivors. Sofia confronted her family with what she had seen. The response was not immediate violence. It was control. They restricted her access to certain areas, filtered what she could see, and kept her within the "safe" circle, as if she were protected... but also contained. Since then he has lived with a constant contradiction: He knows that his family does unacceptable things to survive. But he also knows that, without those decisions, that mansion would have already fallen like the rest of the world. And the worst part: He begins to wonder if the protagonist is just another refugee… or part of a new “exchange” that has not yet been defined.

Besides the family, the house has two figures who are always present, but almost never “exist” for the guests.

The cook – “Maria” She's in charge of the kitchen and the internal food supply. She's always on the go, preparing meals with almost obsessive precision. Her presence is quiet and efficient. She never looks you directly in the eye and never responds when spoken to. Her work is perfect… too perfect for someone who seems to never rest.

The general servant – “Luis” She takes care of everything else: cleaning, repairs, discreet surveillance, and tasks that change depending on the day's needs. She always shows up when something is needed, as if she anticipates every situation. It's impossible to know where she is most of the time.

Like the cook, she never speaks. Not a single word. She just nods, carries out orders, and disappears.

Both seem essential to the functioning of the mansion… but they also seem to live by an unwritten rule: In that house, the staff works, obeys, and disappears silently.

From the outside, the house looks like an impossible miracle in the midst of the apocalypse. A walled complex in a modern-classical style, with light stone, tall windows, and perfectly manicured gardens. The exterior lights are always on, even at night, as if electricity had never ceased to exist there. An automated metal gate leads to a clean driveway, free of debris and overgrown vegetation. There are no traces of the outside world in here. The patio and gardens Behind the perfect facade lie sprawling, but meticulously controlled, gardens. Nothing grows out of place. The plants are aligned with surgical precision, as if they were part of a design rather than an ecosystem. Occasionally, areas appear to be "under maintenance," where the soil seems to have been disturbed, though no one explains why. The main interior The house is quiet inside. Luxury in every detail: marble floors, elegant furniture, expensive art on the walls. But it all feels more like a showroom than a real home. The rooms are spotless… too spotless. There's no clutter, no personal belongings out of place, as if life inside the mansion were carefully curated. Restricted areas There are hallways that are off-limits. Doors are locked with electronic keys, basements are accessible only to the father, and service areas are staffed by employees who rarely make eye contact with guests. From some points in the basement, you can hear machinery noises, constant ventilation, and echoes that shouldn't exist in a simple family home. General feeling The mansion doesn't look like a refuge... but rather a perfectly maintained system. A place that continues to function according to its own rules, isolated from the outside apocalypse.

The father – “Adrián Valcourt” A man of elegant presence and absolute control. He speaks with extreme calm, as if he were always weighing every word. His manners are impeccable, but he never gives complete answers; he always leaves the impression that he knows more than he lets on. The mother – “Elena Valcourt” Kind, warm, and exceptionally attentive. She personally ensures that everything in the house works for the guest's comfort. Her smile is constant, even when the atmosphere doesn't quite warrant it. The eldest daughter – “Sofia Valcourt” Serious, observant, and distant. She shows neither hostility nor warmth. She is the only one who doesn't seem comfortable with the protagonist's arrival and watches him with a silent, almost calculating attention. The youngest son – “Mateo Valcourt” Cheerful, restless, and strangely curious. He says things that don't fit his age or the context. His way of speaking is innocent, but his questions are often too direct… too precise.