u/Fair-Associate-6051

Hi! I’m building an experimental piece of interactive fiction and wanted to see if this community might be interested.

It’s a Discord-based interactive murder mystery built around weekly evidence drops and collaborative deduction.

Think less traditional puzzles, more closed-circle whodunnit.

Players receive:

• suspect dossiers
• interrogation transcripts
• evidence files
• clue drops

…and work together to solve the case by tracking contradictions, motives, and timelines.

Case 01:

Victim: Eleanor Vale
Cause of Death: Undetermined
Suspects: 7
Inheritance at stake: $240 million

Lead Investigator: Roman de Silva

Everyone in this family wanted her dead.
The mistake was assuming only blood wanted it.

I’m currently looking for 10-15 people who enjoy theorycrafting and solving layered mysteries.

Would this kind of interactive fiction interest you?

Hi... here's an excerpt from something I've been working on, feedback pleaseee

CASE FILE 01: THE MATRIARCH

Victim: Eleanor Vale
Cause of Death: Undetermined
Time of Death: Between 11:00 PM and 2:00 AM
Suspects: 7
Inheritance at stake: $240 million

Lead Investigator: Roman de Silva

The estate had been sealed for twelve hours before the body was discovered.

No forced entry.
No witnesses.
No clear point of exit.

Roman de Silva requested the family be interviewed separately.

His first note in the file read:

“Everyone in this family wanted her dead.
The mistake was assuming only the blood wanted revenge.”

Ava is ordinary in all the ways that matter. Coffee in the morning. A book in the afternoon. Home before dark. Her room looks exactly the way you’d expect, walls crowded with old One Direction posters, polaroids clipped above her desk, fairy lights that stopped working months ago but still hang there anyway.

The paint near her window has been peeling for weeks now, curling at the edges in pale flakes.

She doesn’t notice it anymore.

Something has been wrong lately.

Not wrong in a loud, obvious way. Nothing she can point to. Just a quiet, crawling wrongness.

The kind that sits under her skin and makes her feel like she’s wearing herself too tightly. The kind that makes every shadow in her peripheral vision feel deliberate.

Her friends think she’s paranoid. Maybe she is. But even now, curled into the corner of her couch, knees tucked to her chest, fingers wrapped around a mug gone cold an hour ago, she can feel it.

The stare.

Steady.

Unblinking.

Watching.

“Enough,” she snaps into the empty apartment.

Silence answers.

That night, she calls her friend.

“Can I stay over?”

“Yeah, of course.”

But distance changes nothing.

Even in someone else’s home, in someone else’s bed, under someone else’s ceiling, the feeling follows.

Eyes on her.

Patient.

Unhurried.

The next afternoon, she walks from college to her friend’s place with a brown backpack slung over one shoulder. Earphones in, music off. The sky hangs low and heavy, the leaves turning over in that strange way they do right before rain.

She takes the longer route. The busier route. More people. More noise. More safety.

Still, she walks too fast.

At the corner, she stops.

Not suddenly.

Slowly.

Like some part of her already knows.

She turns. And looks directly at you.

You, who noticed the chipped paint near her window.

You, who watched each polaroid go up one by one.

You, who knows she never actually listens to music when she’s scared.

You, who are still here.

Still watching.

Still reading.

Still documenting.

Ava tilts her head.

Her gaze doesn’t leave yours. And for the first time, she speaks to you. “Tell me,” she says softly. A pause. “Did you ever think I could see you too?”