#murder 1

A suited figure steps into your field of vision. However, their face is hidden in shadow, making their profile seem more villainous than inviting as they raise their arms to address the group.

The distorted voice of John Doe is… alarming. It’s a cross between what you think would be human, and a distorted autotune that painfully pitches the voice and warps the volume of each word. You turn to find the source of the voice, seeing how it appears to come from every direction, and as you do you see several other people, all similarly seated against the rounded wall of the room. Some attempt to stand, only to falter and stay seated, exhausted from the effort.

“You have all been invited to participate in a game. The name is not so important, but the rules are simple. Prepare to be the best amongst your peers, or your life may end up as collateral. A threat? Perhaps. It isn’t as if you will be free of here anytime soon.” The figure taps at their temple, and you manage to focus enough to see they’re wearing a set of headphones, complete with mic. “Oh? Have you all become fully aware now? Good!” They gesture towards the white statue, and you can now see a small, dark object swaying against it. It appears to be a clothed figure, hovering two feet above the ground.

Rubbing the shock from your eyes, common sense screams in your ears to look harder, and you realize in horror that what you first believed to be an apparition is actually a body. Hung. Limp.

The robotic voice is shrill with glee.

With a quick scan around the room, which the map lists as the foyer, Daryan counts twelve people, thirteen including himself. What came as a bigger shock than the fact that there was a dead body hanging two feet from off the floor was the fact that the other guests were in collapsed states much like Daryan himself, and that they have recognizable faces. More unsettling, it seems their prison garbs have been changed back into their normal attire.

Daryan didn't appreciate being dressed without his consent, and he clenched his fists as he turned back to the man who had spoken earlier.

“Don’t look too alarmed, I am sure there are none here who are unsettled by death, for it will be a constant companion while in this estate. I, too, will be a constant presence here.” John Doe lifts his hands slightly, making a show out of all of this. “You might find this a tad rushed, but there is a method to this madness, and the thrill of a mystery has quite the appeal, especially when the next to die could be any single one of you....”

A man with tanned skin seethes against the wall, his nostrils flaring. Daryan recognizes him easily. FURIO TIGRE lives up to his name, his entire demeanor one of disbelief and absolute wrath. It was why he was one of the most dangerous convicts inside of state prison, having caused fights and riots on the daily, back when Daryan was just a greenhorn.

To Daryan’s right another man stands, if only to make a show of his own build. If Daryan’s mouth wasn’t so dry he may have choked on his spit at seeing REDD WHITE, a criminal blackmailer with a violent streak appear among the crowd. Redd was quick to open his mouth to make a comment, as men his type are prone to do, only for the ominous figure to halt him.

“I must ask you to refrain from asking any questions. I wouldn’t want you to start this little game without knowing the rules first.” Doe’s mechanical voice screeches, “that would be cheating, and cheaters will meet a fitting end.”

A tall, lanky fellow known as LUKE ATMEY jumps to his feet as well, stroking his chin as he wildly observes the scene. Daryan knew the freelance Ace Detective only by headings in old newspapers. The man had been a case study back in the day when Daryan was on the force. What a pompous, over confident man.

Suddenly, he catches sight of the woman sitting directly in front John Doe. Her back is turned towards John as if his narrative was one that she had heard a dozen of times before. DEE VASQUEZ, who Daryan realizes is the mob related ex-producer of children’s fighting shows, has little interest in this conversation, and rather is watching the others in the room.

“I will make it very clear to all of you that this has been a game set up by one of your peers, for reasons that may or may not interest you. I, your humble guide, will provide you with the tools you need to survive to the end, and it will be under your own volition to do so.” John becomes far more serious, losing his jovial tone.

Two women sitting side by side, a duo Daryan recognizes as MORGAN FEY and MIMI MINEY, appear to be casually immersed in Doe’s grandiose ramblings, perhaps a front to cover their true emotions. Morgan has a faint sneer on her face, a wrinkle on her forehead growing deeper with every one of John’s pointed statements. Even her hand covering her mouth does little to hide her disdain. Mimi, with her expression hidden by her hat, seems to share a similar mindset, her jaw tensed up as she grits her teeth.

The tension in the air is as heavy as the severity of Doe’s tone.

“There will be laws here, and to those who chose to take them with a grain of salt, I will make this game a living hell for you. Heed my warnings, I do not wish to repeat myself.” Doe takes a step forward, his body now hidden in the shadow of the statue. “You will be guests in this two floor estate. You will be able to venture into any room before nightfall. You are prohibited from harming one another. And of course, you are prohibited from leaving.”

A prim and proper looking woman, one who instantly grates on Daryan’s nerves for her holier than thou attitude, huffs in indignation. ALITA TIALA was clearly not amused at the curfew or the restrictions. She digs her nails into her palm, her eyes darting from one face to another.

Doe’s shoe squeaks against tile as he shifts his weight, “Don’t look so alarmed, this is supposed to be a challenge after all. That is why we have placed such precautions. To succeed at these cases, you will be forbidden to share images, especially those found in any of your private conversations. It has been pre-decided that only one of the twelve who stands before me will make it to the end of this game, and the prize? Well, of course there would need to be a prize for something as extravagant as this. I will elaborate about that later on, of course. It would be too easy to give you everything now.”

Daryan can feel his face grow warm with anger as Doe’s bullshit fills the air. He recognizes YANNI YOGI and LANA SKYE, who are both in the middle of the room. Lana seems disturbed at the realization that eleven people could be murdered right before her eyes, while Yanni was asleep quite casually on the ground. Daryan was disgusted by Yanni’s lack of regard for their current predicament, but could tell that the light drumming of his fingers against his thigh meant that Yanni was awake and following the conversations, despite not wanting to be part of it.

“In regards to investigating, clues will be given to each remaining guest, and you may decide amongst yourselves who you will trust, and who you will betray. We do encourage you to share your clues; it is ideal to keep your friends close and your enemies closer, especially with you lot.”

A young woman Daryan recognizes from the few newspapers he was able to get his hands on in prison lets out a yawn at the explanation, which irks their so-called host. CAMMY MEELE crosses her arms and rests against the wall, apparently taking a page from Yanni Yogi and sleep off the events of today away.

Unfortunately, Doe has other plans.

“Those who do not follow house rules will be punished accordingly, so be very careful about whose trust you decide to abuse. They may carry a grudge…”

MATT ENGARDE, ex pretty boy superstar, suddenly gasps as he sinks against the wall, his mouth gaping open in fear as John Doe finally appears in the center of the room. There is a moment of silence as several other people do the same, the man’s identity now clear.

“Some of you may know me from the past,  but for now consider me as simply your humble servant… and also your host. I will now allow you the privilege of investigation. Discuss among yourselves who will have the pleasure of examining the body in a makeshift morgue, who will prefer to visit the last known whereabouts of the victim, and who will stay here in the foyer to examine this charming crime scene of ours. Four spots are allotted to each location, so think carefully and contact me when you are ready. Until then, I will patiently await your decision.”

Shelly de Killer smiles, and leaves the choice hanging in the air.

He clears his voice and pulls a piece of parchment from his jacket pocket.

“This murder happened before any of you had stepped foot inside of this mansion. I prefer to work on my own when possible, but Mr. Shelly has the best reputation in the business and I trust him to make sure our game runs smoothly. Our prelude began with the arrival of our victim Kristoph Gavin, a man with quite the reputation both inside and outside the courtroom. He woke up in this place a few days prior, much in the same way that you found yourself. I watched on my hidden cameras as he scrambled around the mansion, such a delightful wreck as he desperately tried to escape… but of course, he never did.

I killed Kristoph on the night that I had you all brought here, in a manner that you may find surprising. I had already confiscated all the possible weapons and escape tools, except for a single kitchen knife that I kept for myself. Equipped with this knife, a rope, and some gloves, I broke the lock on Kristoph’s bedroom door, where he had barricaded himself thinking he was safe. Poor Kristoph was exhausted by this point from stress and lack of sleep, giving me the advantage. Just to play it safe, however, I took a taser with me when I visited him. He was too slow to dodge the electric shock, which left him perfectly posed for my clean stab to his left thigh. The poor man did try his best to scream, but the soundproof room assured that none of you would hear it. The femoral artery is a large one, so he bled out rather quickly, getting the sheets bloody as a result. Once I checked his pulse, leaving a smear of blood as my only trace, I hid the taser and placed the knife on the bed to keep my hands free. I changed his one soiled sock, pink with blood, and disposed of it in the trash can.

I had ample time to drag Kristoph to the foyer, as you were all still sleeping soundly from the drugs we used to make the transport from prison easier. His body was stiff and the blood was mostly dried, leaving no trails to follow. I tied the rope around his neck, not bothering with a hangman’s knot. Moving up the stairs to the balcony, I took the rope and pulled his body upwards. It seems that some blood was smeared on the statue in the process, not that it was any concern to me. As for the rest, the gloves were disposed of at the end after I replaced the bedsheets. Before I left to rejoin the group, I stabbed my bloodied knife into the wall- first because it would be an amusing diversion, and second to reiterate how seriously you should be taking this game.

For those who were able to discover this much, I am impressed. Especially of you, case winner. It was if you had read my mind completely. Congratulations. As for the rest, I fear you may not all be so lucky. Now, you may open the cards I have sent to see your fate. Best of luck, my dear guests.”

Everyone falls silent when Shelly finishes reading the killer’s message. “Mr. Engarde had the most accurate case, and will be receiving a special gift from myself as his reward. On the other hand…”

Furio pales when he opens his letter, and further down the table Luke is wearing a similar expression of shock.

Standing by the glass doors that separated the parlor from the courtyard, Dee cursed the path fate had forced upon her. She did not want to wallow, however. That was not her style. Rather, she had spent the night watching the other guests quite carefully after the challenge that their host had provided. How quickly had such a move been taken, and now she was left dealing with the aftermath. The sequel to today would bring upon indescribable anxiety for the viewer. One could only hope it would be a grand exit. 

She had chosen to hover near the courtyard, where she could listen in to discussions in the parlor and dining room discreetly. Perhaps it was underhanded of her, but with information circling so quickly it was easy to feel out of the loop. It was almost like a scandal or affair in the studio; the press would be overjoyed to get any tidbits of information in their direction. 

Dee taps her fingers against her thigh, considering how quickly these upcoming weeks would feel. It was why she loathed watching shows as they released. She was prone to binge watching and reading scripts at full. 

"Would you care for a light?" Shelly asks, silently appearing just within her viewing range. He was like a ghoul, or her old slob of a coworker Sal- both better out of sight and out of mind. 

"That would be nice... but I could hardly imagine you providing me with such a prop." A lit cigarette was quite a trope. 

Shelly does not humor her, "Under my supervision, I will provide what you need to sedate such cravings. You are a guest, after all."

How funny. It didn't quite feel like it. "That does not flatter me." Dee sighs, spotting Alita within the dining room, pouring herself tea with Morgan and Daryan. She could hear Luke and Mimi sharing a conversation near the library, and was irked by Cammy's light snoring on the couch behind her. The others she imagined would be upstairs inspecting the unused game room, perhaps finding something of use. She knew that Furio and Redd had spent ample time avoiding the crowd, perhaps scaring Matt and Yanni in their wake. She did not know. Nor did she care. There was a mystery to be solved after all. "Hurry then and provide me with the next arc. I do detest waiting." 

Shelly quirks a brow at this, and his hand slips towards his earpiece. With a click of a button, static circles the entire estate through his signature walkie talkies. Dee watches with amusement as the feedback startles Cammy awake.

"Dear guests, the time is approaching for the conclusion of our first game. I am sure our victim would enjoy knowing that their final moments were investigated so thoroughly by the likes of you. This, however, brings us to our next segment, as I will call it. I implore you to hold your cards close and assemble the pieces of this case. Your continued survival depends on it.” 

“In two days time I will ask for you all to state your case. You will be given an opportunity to explain to the house exactly how this murder occurred, from start to finish. Those who provide the most accurate account will be allowed to move to the next round of our game. Those who fail to do so... well, I would urge you to keep the stakes in mind.” 

Shelly continues, “Also, I would not suggest trying to break open our locked doors. You will not be able to enter until told otherwise. With that, I wish you the best of luck." 

Dee Vasquez bites into her cigarette and side eyes the man. "An interesting development... Light this."

"Of course, Ms. Vasquez." He says, offering the flame of a vintage lighter.