Everybody in a modern game posts, and nobody posts carefully. Hand the table the missing woman’s last post and let them read the replies: somewhere under the jokes and the worried friends is the one account that should not have known.
The status bar and the app’s own bar across the top; the author’s picture, name and handle; the post, its hashtags in the link colour and a photo if you give it one; the time it went up, with a pinned or an edited mark; the counts of replies, reposts, likes and views, each with its icon; and the replies beneath, faded out where the screen would scroll. A reply comes from a palette as an ordinary reply, a reply from the author with a badge, or a deleted one that leaves only its notice, and drags into order on the screen. An edited post whose replies answer something it no longer says is a clue in itself.
Light mode and dark mode are the same modern phone at noon and at midnight; the cyberpunk handset shows a corporate feed in neon. The page is 71 × 150 mm, the size of an ordinary smartphone, at 300 DPI. In a world without phones, what a whole town is meant to read goes up as a Poster or into the small notices of a Newspaper.