"Phones." The guy in front of me ordered. He was tall. Who looked much like a bouncer at first glance with the whole big strong bodyguard ensemble. His eyes peered over mine through his dark sunglasses, but I did not shiver. He gestured at an expensive velvet box, rectangular in shape, and inside were phones of various extravagant designs.

            I, finding no means to get out of this, finally obliged, placing my simple black smartphone amongst the rest of its newfound peers.

            "How about my gun?" I said. I had one in my pocket, mind you.

            He just looked at me, uninterested, and shrugged, which I found quite odd—to think these people would let me carry around a firearm all the while confiscating our phones and other kinds of communication devices.

            Like kindergarten brats who you granted permission to bring a piccolo to school. You're signing up for quite a gamble there, pal.

            Coincidentally, this is a gamble where I'm headed to—I have yet to remind myself of that.

            Detective Forsythe Sans McSerif here, and yes, I am a private investigator for the filthiest but outwardly law-abiding blue bloods of Ebottropolis.

            Recently, a wealthy friend of mine contacted me, saying he received an invitation to a friend's engagement party. Two, to be exact, the other was strangely intended for me.

            "My invite says, I am a survivor—of what exactly? Pfft, I don't know, I suppose it is a joke, so I have no intention to attend. However, you... you might find yours interesting." He said.

            Sure enough, it was definitely alluring.

            My invite plainly stated: Detective, in bold golden letters. If I looked closely, a comma was at the end of the word.

            But why?

            I noticed the very long border design under the word and brushed my fingers along the small dots and lines found there. Morse code, I concluded. Altogether, it read: Detective, please save me!

            Usually, I would've treated the message as a joke as well, however, the sender was none other than the client I was assigned to keep an eye on the following week. I guess I'd have to reschedule my cases—his call for help seemed too urgent to ignore any longer.

            And so here I am, at the slightly rusted but fine iron gates that led to a Victorian mansion which sat amongst the dreary woods at the far edge of Ebottropolis.

            It was ghost quiet on the outside, in contrast with the chatting and slight dancing movements of people seen through the windows to the inside. The estate must have been soundproofed.

            Although the house was ancient and strange, it had its charm, might, and the right amount of seclusion, an ideal getaway destination for the aristocracy. With this in mind, surely the Snowdin Manor is by no surprise, abundant with dark history.

            "The snow never came after it was once buried under a lot of it." My friend described, "However, it is still chilly, even at summer—boy, my friend must be a lunatic to buy such a cursed paradise!"

            It sounded like a silly ghost story, but I'll be able to prove the idea wrong in a realistic way. I am here for a possible murder case involving my client, this story can thwart all haunted history into a slaughterhouse.

            Walking inside the manor was the rather warmer change of atmosphere. Every nook and cranny was filled with bright yellowish lantern lights, creating a calmer ambience. There were violin tunes accompanied by a piano, no, an orchestrated ensemble echoing in multiple directions.

            Despite the suggested lively theme of the event, there were only fourteen of us who attended, the 13th and 14th being the engaged couple, the married-to-be.

            Some of them were chatting, but most were a little awkward and quiet. I suspected they were selected, like I was, for some peculiar reason which we knew nothing of.

            "Ah, Inspector Forsythe McSerif." I heard someone call me from behind, so I turned around to see a man with brunet hair, a dazzling smile, and flashing blue eyes. He was dressed in a gentlemanly grey fashion, and on his hand were two glasses of sparkling water.

            "Detective, Mr. Garnier." I corrected, snatching a glass from him.

            "Haha! Right. I never expect someone like you to attend such a frivolous gathering. You look absolutely splendid!"

            "Mhm, Mr. Garnier, you are a man of culture, indeed."

            "Indeed, eh!" we both chuckled.

            Lawrence Garnier was a client I served three months ago on solving the case behind his missing prized painting. He manages an esteemed art museum with his brother, Alistair. After solving his case, like all the other clients I've helped throughout the years, he treated me as buddy-tier.

            Well, who am I kidding? You can never be friends with the blue bloods; they'd surely stab you in the back one day. The only wealthy friend I had was the one who passed me the invitation, Grillby.

            My pinpricks scanned the area, identifying the guests by memory;

            The Dreemurr couple, Asgore and Toriel, who owns the largest furniture company in the country, New Home Furniture;

            Michael Turner, heir to the growing oil company, Turner Fuels;

            Professor Simoun Gaster III, the head of the neurology department of North Ebottropolis Hospital, and his assistant, Dr. Alphys Dandelion;

            Commissioner Undyne Jones of the Ebottropolis Special Police Force;

            Mr. Asriel Dreemurr, son of the mentioned Dreemurr couple, who recently established a company under his own name;

            Madame Lustre, who I strongly believed as a fraud but was greatly received by mass aristocrats who finds comfort from her words of wisdom, therefore she became a blue blood as well;

            Mettaton Richards, a worldwide idol in the variety show industry;

            And finally, the star couple of the night, my client Mr. Papyrus and his fiancée, Ms. Charmelia Mercy, heiress to the Mercy Group.

            Aside from him, the Garnier brothers, Commissioner Jones, and Mettaton, the rest of the guests were strangers to me, so this will be a very tough case to crack. Not even one of them I assumed to be related to the other, not to mention, the fourteenth guest—

            "You seemed to be here for a case, Mr. McSerif." Lawrence interrupted my train of thoughts.

            "Detective." I again corrected, "What makes you think that way, Mr. Garnier?"

            "You were staring at everyone in the middle of our conversation." I gave him a bewildered look when he said that, then he points to my face in eureka, "See! That was the way you looked at me during my painting theft case as well. Can you please not treat every single person you see today as a suspect, and just chill?"

            I shrugged in reply, "No can do, sir, I'm on duty. Besides," I pointed at the bouncer, err, bodyguard at the entrance and flicked my finger at Mr. Garnier right after, "That guy, and you look plenty suspicious to me—no hard feelings, eh, buddy?" I chuckled at his dazed reaction as I pat his shoulder and trotted away.

            As I wandered through this stream of a limited guest list, the music of slow, romanticized violin continues, just as the night did.

            I started organizing my thoughts as I chatted with the servants of the manor.

            Why did Mr. Papyrus invite such a random choice of people? Based on my recent background check on my client, none of them had any matters in regards to him—what did I miss? Was he really the one who invited all of us here?

            "Quite a crowd here, huh?" someone I hadn't noticed stood beside me said. I looked at her. She was dressed beautifully in a sky blue evening gown, and her short hair resembled the hot chocolate I craved since this morning. I stared into her big hazel irises which pierced through my ice cold ones, but what really caught my attention was her crystal white diamond jewelry set, especially the glimmering necklace that seemed to parade around her neck.

            "Which one?" I said with a grin, "I don't see anyone other than just the two of us."

            The fourteenth guest, Detective Eliza Frisk Mercy.