Cold Storage

The sister sits in our office wearing a coat too warm for the weather, like she's bracing for another door to close. She says the police called it mechanical failure, an old man in the wrong place, case shut in under a week. Glen Young spent thirty years piloting ships through the harbour mouth by feel and radio static. Retirement didn't take. Lately he'd been asking around, quiet questions about something he logged years back, the kind of asking old harbour men do when a thing won't let them sleep. Now he's a body pulled out of a cold storage unit in The Quay, and the logbook he kept isn't in his condo anymore. His sister isn't buying mechanical failure. Neither are we. We start in the cold room and work backward, one old page at a time.

Five chapters, one linear story, about two and a half hours on the clock. How hard it is, the people who played it say on this door once five of them have rated it.

One purchase, three attempts. A started team is an attempt. Only your first attempt lands on the leaderboard.

A case is chapters. Each chapter opens at a place everyone goes to, hands out one lead per detective, and closes with a lead that needs what everyone brought back. Nobody can run ahead: the next chapter opens when the team gets there.

Everyone has their own car. Pick 1–4 detectives; it locks when the case starts. On a team, each detective drives their own lead while the others drive theirs; every paper anyone finds goes into the team's locker, the whole team is told when a lead is found or a door opens, and riding along to a teammate's stop is free.

Teammates need no account. Share the join code or the link; up to three guests can sit at the table. Only the leader starts, pauses and submits.

Score. Right answers first, then fewer rides, then time. Going back to a place you have seen is free; a wrong gate code costs a ride; a hint on a lead costs one. The board is per team size.