Why did Johnny Wyles want to go to the moon? Nobody had a clue—not Rusty, not the chat, not even Johnny himself.
To figure it out, they had to dive deeper into his memories or plant the moon idea back when he was a kid. That way, in his old age, it'd feel like a natural dream. The key? A "memory fragment"—some item to spark a memory and rewind the timeline.
"Memory fragment? This is all I've got," Johnny said, picking up an umbrella from the bench by the lighthouse. He handed it to Rusty, controlling Dr. Neil Watts.
Rusty raised an eyebrow. "An umbrella? That's a memory fragment?" Chat chimed in: "An umbrella? Seriously?" "What's next, a toaster?" "Zoey's messing with us!"
Rusty pressed the handle. A soft buzz hummed, the umbrella opened, and a white flash swallowed the screen.
Two Years Ago: River Had Just Passed
The screen cleared. Johnny stood by the lighthouse, holding the same umbrella. A light rain fell, pattering on the canopy. He tilted it over a tombstone—River's—keeping it dry while his coat soaked through. He didn't seem to notice, just murmured to himself.
Soft piano notes played, sad and quiet. Johnny's voice cracked. "It's over, River. Now I can look after her, like you did. She won't be alone. I may never understand, but I'll keep your wish. Anya will be grateful, too. But when I'm gone… who'll look after us?"
Rusty, as Neil, stepped closer. "Is this… your wife?"
Johnny glanced up, confused. "Who're you?" This was two years ago—he didn't know Neil or WindyPeak LifeWorks.
"Name's Neil, just a doctor passing by," Rusty said, keeping it casual.
Johnny nodded, eyes back on the tombstone. "She shouldn't be here. I mean, she didn't have to… Never mind. You wouldn't get it. I barely do myself."
Chat buzzed: "What's he mean, 'shouldn't be here'?" "River didn't have to die?" "Who's Anya?" "Their kid?" "Nah, Lily's the nanny, no kids mentioned." "Anya's someone River cared about, right?" "This is deep. I'm hooked!" "Gotta finish this tonight or I'm not sleeping."
Rusty nodded. "Alright, chat, we're solving this mystery. Let's keep going." The riddle—River's burial, Anya, Johnny's words—had everyone gripped.
He searched the lighthouse. At the top, he found it: the old platypus plushie, yellow and worn. Another white flash, and time rewound again.
Years Earlier: River's Final Days
The screen faded in. Johnny and River were in a modest room, not yet by the sea. River, orange-red hair framing a pale face, lay in bed, clutching the platypus plushie. Paper rabbits littered the floor—red, blue, green, white. Johnny tucked her blanket gently.
"We've got enough," Johnny said, voice low. "Even after the surgery, there's plenty left. Don't worry."
"A white lie," River said softly, almost to herself.
Johnny forced a smile. "There's enough, I swear."
River cut him off. "I don't like lies, John. I won't go against my beliefs."
"But we need the money for your treatment," Johnny said, pain creeping into his voice. "I know Anya means a lot to you, but… you're going too far. She's not even…"
"What would make me happy, John?" River asked, turning to him.
"What?"
"You know, don't you?"
Johnny fell silent, unsure. River's voice softened. "I won't take the treatment. Keep the money. If you respect my wishes, fix up the house… and take care of Anya for me."
Silence hung heavy. Rusty's eyes widened. "Wait, that's the two-tone rabbit from the lighthouse!" River pulled a yellow-and-blue paper rabbit from under the blanket and handed it to Johnny.
Chat exploded: "River made those rabbits?" "That's the lighthouse one!" "What's it mean?" "Zoey's dropping clues!"
River held up the rabbit. "What's this, John?"
Johnny scratched his head. "Uh… a paper rabbit?"
"And?"
"It's… made of paper?"
"And?"
"Yellow belly, blue limbs."
"Exactly! And what else?" River's voice rose, eager.
Johnny faltered. "I… don't know." He changed the subject. "Hey, I wrote a song for you. It's called 'For River.'"
River chuckled. "Old-fashioned name."
The piano notes of "For River" played, soft and warm. Rusty frowned. "Something's off with River. She's hinting at something." Chat agreed: "She's like a puzzle." "Trying to say something but can't?" "John's not getting it." "Is it a health thing?" "Not Alzheimer's, maybe autism?" "She's guiding him, but he's lost."
Rusty kept searching for memory fragments to push the timeline forward.
In Seattle, Zoey Parker and Gus Harper sprawled on their apartment sofa, sharing a blanket. The Twitch stream glowed on their laptop. Zoey nudged Gus. "Remember this part? You walked me through it forever."
Gus grinned. "Not bad, right? It's just setting up River's condition."
River had congenital heart disease and Asperger's syndrome, a form of autism. She could speak and think clearly but struggled with social cues, often fixating on specific things—like paper rabbits. It was like she was adrift at sea, seeing others but unable to connect. Others saw her, too, but couldn't reach her.
As the game's timeline would show, River's illness shaped her choices. When their seaside house was being built, her heart condition worsened. Johnny faced a choice: finish the house or fund her treatment. He wanted to save her, but River insisted on the house, giving up treatment to see it done.
Why? Players didn't know yet. Why the house? Why the rabbits? And who—or what—was Anya?
Back in the game, time rewound further. Rusty's stream gave way to Eggplant's. The screen opened on a meadow near the sea, the lighthouse glowing under the moon. Tables and chairs were decked with flowers and lights. Guests laughed, holding champagne. A wedding—Johnny and River's.
Eggplant grinned. "Outdoor wedding? Nice!" Chat buzzed: "John and River's big day!" "This is so sweet!"
The couple wasn't in the crowd—likely due to River's autism, Eggplant guessed. He found them under the lighthouse.
"Do you feel different now?" River asked Johnny, leaning against the lighthouse.
"Of course. We exchanged rings, didn't we?" Johnny's voice was warm.
River shook her head. "No, I mean her." She pointed to the lighthouse. "What do you think of Anya?"
Chat gasped: "Anya's the lighthouse?!" "Not a person?" "River gave up treatment for a lighthouse?" "That's… intense." "Zoey's storytelling is unreal." "Keep going, Eggplant!"
Johnny smiled. "Let's dance up top."
River hesitated. "I… don't know how."
"I'll teach you," Johnny said, taking her hand.
They climbed to the lighthouse's top. Its yellow beam shone like a second moon. The sea sparkled below, and the lighthouse glowed warmly. They danced, awkward but happy, their laughter drifting out.
Eggplant's voice softened. "This is beautiful." Chat agreed: "I'm tearing up." "Zoey's got me emotional." "That piano's perfect."
Johnny didn't understand why River cared so much about the lighthouse, named Anya. But he protected it for decades, from its prime to its abandoned state, just as he loved River. Her illness made her hard to understand, but he listened, always.
The game flashed through memories, all tied to that platypus plushie. It was there when Johnny asked River to the movies, shyly sitting beside her. It stayed with her through youth, love, and illness. Every memory—first date, wedding, River's final days—hinged on that ugly toy.
But as Eggplant tried to push further back, the screen flickered. The doctors stood in a mess of broken light. Johnny's memories… stopped.
Chat freaked: "What?!" "Memory crash?" "Zoey, why?!" "Cliffhanger from hell!"
Eggplant stared. "Zoey, you genius. I'm not sleeping tonight."