Parlour crime · Played in person · Settled by vote
The Phones Run The Night
Nobody has to sit out and read the script. Maffia deals the roles, speaks the narration, and keeps every secret it is given.
Three at a table is enough. More is better. Everybody brings a phone, one player opens the game, and a six-digit code puts the rest of the room into the same table. There is no host with a script and no friend left out to narrate: the phones do that work, and the phones do not gossip.
Roles are dealt in the dark. Mafiosos, who are told about each other and nobody else. A detective, who may ask after one name a night. A medic, who makes one house call. Civilians, who are told nothing at all and have to guess anyway. Each player looks once, at their own screen, and lies about it from then on.
When night falls, one voice speaks out of every phone at once — same words, same moment, no tells. The mafia picks a name. The medic covers a name. The detective asks after one. Then the sun comes up and the table learns who did not make it through.
Daylight is for accusations. The table talks it out and votes: sleep on it, or send somebody up the steps. The town wins when the last mafioso is gone. The mafia wins when the town runs out of people who might have noticed.
The whole table hears the same voice. Only your own screen knows who you are.
— The house, on the matter of tells