It all started with a simple invitation. A hire. A chance for quick and easy money.

The letter was simply for William, but he wished for you to join him just in case things went awry.

The boat ride to Soldier Island was simple. Greeting people and lying about your identities was simple. Packing your things in the same room was simple. Dinner conversations were simple.

The simplicity stopped at dinner. The men all sat at the table. Vera and Emily were in the living room, having coffee. A voice boomed throughout the house.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Silence, please!”

Everyone, including you, jumped up to listen.

“You have been charged with the following indictments!”

“Is this a joke?!” Marston exclaimed.

“Edward George Armstrong, that you murdered Louisa Mary Clees-“ Dr. Armstrong kept from his seat.

“What the hell is this? Who is this?” He asked. “… I don’t know, sir-“ Mr. Rogers stated.

“Emily Caroline Brent, that you murdered Beatrice Taylor,” The recording continued. “William Henry Blore, that you did murder James Stephen Landor.” You gave William an odd stare.

“Vera Elizabeth Claythorne, that you did murder Cyril Ogilvie Hamilton.” Philip Lombard left his seat and went down the hall to find the source of this voice. “Philip Lombard, that you did murder 21 men, members of an East African tribe.” All the men collectively stood to follow Lombard. He was ousting through the library, trying to find the source of the noise.

“John Gordon MacArthur, that you did murder Arthur Richmond-“ General MacArthur gripped the doorframe. “Where is it coming from?!” He cried. “Rogers?!” Rogers weakly gestured to the service doors.

“Anthony James Marston, that you did murder John and Lucy Coombes,” the recording continues. Marston scoffed. “I never heard of them,” he claimed.

“Lawrence John Wargrave, that you did murder Edward Seton.” The old judge turned as pale as a ghost. The group found the door, and Roger’s struggled with his keys. Lombard pushed him out of the way.

“Out of the way-“

“Thomas and Ethel Rogers, that you did murder Jennifer Brady.” There was a shatter of glass in the kitchen. Mr. Rogers rushed, heading to the kitchen to find his wife in distress. He wrapped his arms around her and covered her mouth, muffling her screams. Followed was the sound of a needle screeching against a record. Lombard kicked the door off of its hinges, throwing it off to the side. Inside was a record player.

“Prisoners at the bar, how do you plead?”

Lombard picks up the record and carries it out into the passage. Rogers left the kitchen, carrying his wife in his arms.

“Oh, Mrs. Rogers,” Emily Brent exclaimed.

Dr. Armstrong went over to Rogers and questioned him. They spoke, and it resulted in Armstrong and the Rogers leaving to inspect Mrs. Rogers’s state. Marston looked to Blore, who had lied about knowing the Owens. He grasped the lapels on Blore’s suit, pinning him to the wall and yelling at him, questioning him. You had to pull him off. While Lombard mentioned that Blore was indeed Blore, stripping him of his identity, he did question who you were. You were unnamed.