A mechanical voice echoed through the darkness as I tried to open my eyes.
"Welcome, little host."
"I am your guide for Murder Mystery."
Murder Mystery?
Why does that sound so… familiar?
"If I were you, I'd keep your mouth closed, Sir Clonsen of the Viliam family."
Sir Clonsen… that's right. I remember now... we had guests visiting today, and it should have been..
BANG!
Pain ripped through my chest. I froze, staring in disbelief at the person holding the smoking gun.
Blood seeped through my shirt, and my knees buckled.
"Why…? Do you know what..."
"Dear guests, welcome to Murder Mystery."
"Today's victim is Sir Clonsen."
At that moment, the entire hall fell silent.
A shimmering blue interface floated before every guest.
"Each of you has been assigned a role… and a timer."
A woman in a lavish gown stared blankly at the glowing numbers above her name.
– Days remaining: 4
– Role: The Mistress of the House
– Skill: Knows every corner of the estate
– Debuff: Can only reveal clues
– Condition: Mute, mentally unstable
Before anyone could comprehend what was happening, she began to scream.
"We're all dead! We're all dead!" she cried, clawing at her face until her nails tore skin.
"Allow me to explain the rules," the voice continued calmly.
"Some of you are murderers. Others are players with special roles."
The butler gripped his cane, trembling as he looked around.
The cook, a large man with a cold expression, stared at the guests like a predator sizing up its prey.
"Each of you carries a death counter. Survivors must stay alive until the timer runs out."
The blood-red-lipped lady smiled faintly, too calmly.
"Murderers, however, possess a kill counter. You must eliminate the survivors before their time expires."
Two elderly twins exchanged grim looks.
"Fail to do so," the voice warned, "and you die."
A woman clutching her husband's arm broke into sobs, their four children huddling close.
"Every servant in this house is an NPC you can't kill infront of them."
Another lady ,long brown hair, dark eyes, stared at her screen with horror.
"But beware: if you kill the wrong person, you lose instantly."
A heavyset woman nervously stuffed food into her mouth.
"Each of you has a unique mission."
An ancient woman in a wheelchair, pushed by her daughter, squinted at the floating text.
Her parrot screeched, "Traitors! Traitors!"
"If you complete your mission, you can escape death."
"And murderers cannot harm those who've succeeded."
A doctor in a white coat gripped his medical bag.
"If your role allows interference, you may assist others, but only through information."
An Indian lady tightened her sari, eyes flickering with fear.
"Fail to complete your quest thirty minutes before your death timer ends, and a forced death scenario will begin."
The parrot cackled again, louder this time.
"Traitors, traitors!"
"Each of you has a designated death scenario the murderers must follow."
"Play your role faithfully."
"Good luck, players."
The system's voice faded. The hall fell into a tensesilence.
The guests stared at one another, trembling,
eyes darting, minds spinning.
The parrot broke the quiet first, croaking,
"Traitors, traitor."before falling into silence.
Then,from somewhere deep with in the mansion.
Through the static of the system, through the
echo of death itself a voice whispered:
"Sir Clonsen, any regrets before death?"
A pause.
The faint sound of breathing, like a
memory replaying from the void.
"My only regret.."
,a weak, broken laugh echoed,
"is not killing you..."
The lights flickered.
Every timer on every guest's display began to tick down.
"And the game truly began"