The lights buzzed.
A new wave of blue screens unfolded above every guest's head.
A mechanical chime echoed through the hall.
"Additional protocol activated."
Lines of text rewrote themselves, crisp, merciless, and cold.
"Each player now has access to the Murder Room."
Gasps rippled through the guests.
A shimmering number appeared above each person's name, floating like a ghostly lantern:
– Entrance Priority: 7
– Entrance Priority: 12
– Entrance Priority: 3
– Entrance Priority: 1
The numbers flickered and rearranged themselves.
"These numbers indicate your entrance order," the system intoned.
"They are randomized. Higher numbers enter later; lower numbers enter first."
Someone swallowed audibly.
The red lipped lady whispered, barely audible:
"Can… can we enter together?"
"Yes. You may enter the Murder Room alone or with another player.
However...the room only opens for one hour.
If you choose to enter with someone ahead of you in the queue, your number will follow theirs."
The doctor murmured, more to himself than anyone else.
"That means… if I'm priority 10 but follow priority 2… I enter second?"
"Correct."
Side quests blinked into existence beside each timer.
Small icons, cursed and mocking, danced over the guest's heads.
The maid screamed as her interface rearranged itself, a shifting to do list of horrors.
"Side quests are optional," the voice continued.
"Complete them, and you will earn clues.
Clues may reveal a murderer's actions, locations of hidden evidence, or inconsistencies in another player's story."
"What happens if we fail?", a player asked.
"Failure yields nothing… but may accelerate your death scenario."
A cold breeze drifted through the hall.
The cook clenched his jaw.
The twins shivered in unison.
The ancient woman grinned, teeth showing in the dim light.
The blue interfaces flickered like candle flames in a storm.
One by one, the numbers stabilized.
Priority 1.
It hovered above the cook.
He didn't flinch.
Jaw tight, expression unreadable, he stepped forward.
A soft chime rang:
"Player: The Cook
Access to Murder Room , Now Available."
The doors behind him creaked open on their own, revealing a narrow corridor lit by trembling yellow bulbs.
No one tried to stop him.
No one even breathed.
He paused at the threshold, eyes sweeping the terrified crowd.
The parrot hissed, almost gleeful:
"Guilty… guilty…"
The cook's lip twitched.
Then he stepped through.
The doors slammed shut behind him.
The Murder Room
The corridor opened into a vast study,
books towered from floor to ceiling,
papers littered the floor like dead leaves,
a thick layer of dust coated everything.
A grandfather clock ticked with unnatural rhythm.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
A digital chime overlaid the sound:
Timer: 01:00:00 begins.
Another window appeared before him.
Side Quest Activated:
Find the news article about the Hotel Sunries accident.
The cook scoffed.
"Hotel Sunries… after all these years?"
He moved to the nearest shelf, flipping through brittle books.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
His breath quickened.
The ticking clock grew louder.
"You think I'd keep evidence lying around? You think I'm stupid?" he muttered.
The system answered instantly:
"You did keep evidence. You simply no longer remember where."
The cook froze.
"What?"
A low hum vibrated through the walls.
"Memory loss due to trauma and guilt detected.
Reconstructing triggers."
The lights flickered.
A cold draft swept across the study.
And then....
#A Flash of Winter
He wasn't in the study anymore.
Snow hammered the ground.
The world was white, silent, cruel.
A woman pounded on a locked back door, sobbing, her belly swollen with pregnancy.
"PLEASE! LET ME IN! I'M FREEZING!"
His voice echoed behind the memory, cold, detached, older than he remembered.
"You shouldn't have threatened me."
He watched himself turn the key.
Watch the door lock.
Watch the woman collapse in the snow.
The memory snapped away.
The cook gasped, steadying himself on a bookshelf.
"…No. No, no, no.."
His hands shook.
"I didn't...no. She forced my hand. She...she wasn't supposed to die!"
The system remained mercilessly silent.
#Back in the Study
Shelf after shelf.
Drawer after drawer.
Nothing.
Then...a faint vibration under the floorboards.
A hollow echo.
The cook crouched.
Tapped the floor.
Thump. Thump… Hollow.
His pulse quickened.
"…Downstairs," he whispered.
"Right. Of course. I hid everything downstairs."
A trapdoor, half-concealed under a rug, waited for him.
Hands hovering, he remembered.
What lay below wasn't just the article.
It was everything.
The body.
The tools.
The truth.
His own sins, buried where air could never reach.
He forced the trapdoor open.
Cold breath rose from the dark below.
The stairs descended into pitch-blackness.
His interface glowed:
Main Quest Update:
– Tell the maid how you killed her daughter.
– Explain where the body is.
– Confess before your timer drops below 15 hours.
He swallowed hard.
"I have time," he whispered.
But his hands trembled as he stepped into the dark.
*Remaining Murder Room Time: 00:41:22*
The cook disappeared into the shadows.