The detective is artificial. The mystery is infinite.
A premium AI-detective game where every mystery is generated fresh. You arrive after the crime. The suspects are waiting. Ask the right questions, weigh what you find, and name the killer — before the trail goes cold.
Question a cast of living suspects in natural conversation. They answer in their own voice, with their own memory and their own reasons to help — or mislead you.
Search the scene for evidence, then link each clue to a suspect's motive, means, and opportunity on your investigation board. The case takes shape as you build it.
When the board points one way, make your accusation. Get it right and the case closes. Get it wrong and you'll wish you'd asked one more question.
Everyone who came that night passed through here.
Every suspect is a living character, not a menu of canned lines. They hold a motive they may not want to share, they recall what you asked five questions ago, and they react to the evidence you put in front of them. Press the right nerve and a calm witness turns defensive; miss it, and a guilty one walks free.
No two interrogations unfold the same way — because the people you're questioning are improvising their alibis just like a real suspect would. How they decide what to reveal is our craft to keep. What it feels like to play is the part we'll happily shout about: a conversation that surprises you.
I can't say for certain, but the master of the house could rub people the wrong way. He had his share of disputes — especially concerning money. I had my own about unpaid wages. But I wouldn't wish harm on him.
A dinner no one lived to finish.
Each case is a complete whodunit — a victim, a tight circle of suspects, hidden motives, and exactly one killer. The setting is the stage; the drama is generated fresh on top of it. We're building these worlds one at a time, each with its own cast of roles, its own mood, and its own kind of secret.
A gaslit English country house, a storm at the windows, and a family with more secrets than rooms. The first world AlibA.I. ships with — gothic, intimate, and full of people who'd rather you didn't ask. Murder among the well-mannered, where everyone has an alibi and someone is lying.
A dig site under a wide, cold sky. A foreign patron dead among the trenches, a crew of rival excavators and uneasy locals, and a buried find worth killing for. Our next world: the same deduction, a wholly different cast of motives.
We're sketching settings beyond the manor and the dig — each a self-contained stage for a new kind of mystery, with its own roles, era, and atmosphere. New worlds arrive as themes; the detective work stays exactly as sharp.
The grounds keep what the house won't say.
The Manor is filled by a rotating company of more than twenty suspects — the housekeeper, the gardener, the heir, the weekend guest, and more. Every case deals them new motives, new secrets, and a new culprit, so the faces stay familiar while the truth never does.
Keeper of every key and every routine. She knows which doors lock, which guests linger, and which family secrets stay below stairs. Loyal, measured — perhaps to a fault.
Works the grounds dawn to dusk and sees who comes and goes through the garden gate. Gruff, plain-spoken, and short on patience for the family’s airs — or their unpaid wages.
Built his fortune and his name from nothing, and rules the house as though he built that too. Proud and self-made — the kind of man other people’s grudges collect around.
Poised, charming, and perfectly at ease at the centre of any room. Every warm word is chosen — and behind the poise, an eye always on what stands to be gained.
Stands to inherit everything and wants none of it. A fortune you never asked for is still a fortune worth killing over — to someone.
Charming, well-connected, and always somewhere near the trouble. A guest who seems to know the house better than a guest should — and the family better still.
Keeper of the old ways and the family’s proper order, wary of every change. She’ll defend the way things were — at whatever cost the present demands.
Fiercely loyal, he’d sacrifice anything for the people he loves. The line between devotion and control is thin, and he does not always see it.
Everyone in the house has been mended by her hands at some point. She puts others first without fail — though a lifetime of quiet sacrifice can curdle into something colder.
Elevated half the house at one time or another and gave his time freely. Just don’t outshine him — pride sits close beneath the generosity.
Carries a private grief and still finds the bright side for everyone else. Hope, worn as armour, hides as much as it heals.
Smooths every quarrel before it can catch fire and wants only for everyone to get along. What she’ll do to keep the peace is the question worth asking.
Keeps to the edges of every room and misses nothing from there. Patient, self-contained, and hard to read — silence, with him, is a strategy.
Generous to a fault and delighted by his own oddness. Gives freely, talks endlessly — and somehow always seems to be somewhere he shouldn’t.
The name everyone in the district trusts, upright and dependable to the last. Pillars, though, have the longest way to fall.
A man rebuilding himself from a worse past, earnest about every amends. The trouble with a buried history is who else remembers it.
Wants the house, and the world, made fairer, and backs conviction with action. Believes the ends can justify the means — a dangerous certainty in a locked house.
Holds herself and everyone else to a spotless principle. Idealists forgive least of all when the world — or a friend — falls short.
Brilliant, and content to waste it where no one’s watching. The ambition she denies having is the hardest kind to trace.
Knows the workings of the house better than anyone and says the least about it. Quiet competence that could dismantle any alibi — including his own.
Champions anyone who can’t defend themselves, fierce and unflinching. That protective streak has a hair trigger, and proportion isn’t its strong suit.
Painfully honest, she tells the hard truths others won’t. When the proper channels fail her, she has been known to deliver justice herself.
Tends the household’s ailments with unwavering care. Protective to the point of possession — she decides what’s best for you, whether you agree or not.
Reads more than she speaks and remembers everything she reads. Watchful and precise — the quiet ones, after all, are the ones who notice exactly where everybody was.
Every case scatters the Manor with objects that mean nothing on their own. Match them to motive, means, and opportunity — and mind the ones planted to mislead you.
The whole family, painted in better days. Study it long enough and you notice who has been left out — and who stands a little too far from whom.
Found locked from the inside, the keyhole freshly forced and a thread of glove caught in the hinge. An alibi as much as an object.
Opens a private route up to the study that no one thought to watch. Whoever held it could come and go unseen.
The port sits untouched beneath a film of dust — save for a single glass poured the night he died. What was in it is the question.
and many more
How it was done is half the puzzle. Each weapon leaves its own mark, fits some hands and not others, and belongs to a room someone had to reach.
A slim silver letter opener from the study desk. Small, but the point is honest — at close range it parts flesh as cleanly as an envelope.
A heavy marble bust from the library plinth. Too heavy to swing — but deadly the moment it is toppled.
Decanted from the darkroom chemicals. Swift, volatile, and gone from the glass by the time anyone thinks to look.
A pillow pressed over the face in the sickbed. No blade, no blood — silent, and terribly intimate.
and many more
Soft launch Q4 2026 on iOS & Android. Leave your email and we'll tell you the moment it's live.
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