Summary: The robbers split into groups and begin looting the museum.
For a moment, nothing happened.
The tension from before still lingered, but as seconds passed without anything attacking, the fear slowly began to lose its grip. It didn't disappear—but it became easier to ignore.
"…just nerves," one of them muttered.
Another nodded. "Yeah. This place is messing with us."
No one argued.
They entered a new section of the museum.
This room was wider, with better spacing between displays. Glass cases stood in rows, filled with artifacts and valuables. Paintings lined the walls, each one looking expensive even to untrained eyes.
As they moved deeper inside, their formation slowly broke apart—not by plan, but naturally—as smaller groups split off and headed into different rooms, each one focused on robbing whatever they could find.
One of the robbers smirked. "Now this is worth it."
They got to work immediately.
A glass case shattered with a sharp crack. Pieces scattered across the floor as a man reached inside, grabbing an artifact and stuffing it into his bag.
Another case broke.
Then another.
The rhythm settled in—fast, practiced, efficient.
No alarms.
No resistance.
Everything felt normal again.
One man stepped toward a large painting on the wall. He leaned closer, studying it.
"How much do you think this is worth?" he asked.
Another walked over and glanced at it.
"…wow."
"Yeah," he said quietly. "Big money."
Behind them, someone called out:
"Hey—come look at this—"
The first man turned.
Then stopped.
"…where did he go?"
The second man frowned. "What?"
"He was right there."
They both looked around.
Nothing.
No footsteps.
No movement.
"Stop messing around," someone said from across the room.
"I'm not."
The mood shifted again.
Slow.
Uneasy.
Then—
a faint sound.
Glass.
From the far side of the room.
Everyone turned.
"Who's there?"
No answer.
"Come out."
One of them raised his gun and started walking toward the sound, his steps slower now, more careful.
Behind him, another man stayed back.
He didn't move.
Didn't follow.
Something felt wrong.
Too quiet.
Too still.
His eyes moved across the room—corners, shadows—
then upward.
Above him, hidden in darkness, something was there.
A figure.
Hanging upside down.
Completely still.
Watching.
The man narrowed his eyes, trying to focus—
Then the figure moved.
A hand dropped down instantly, covering his mouth before he could react. In the same motion, he was pulled upward into the darkness.
No sound.
No struggle.
Gone.
The space below was empty again.
A few seconds passed.
"…where is he?" someone asked.
Now they were counting.
One missing.
Then—
another.
A flicker of movement.
Gone.
A second man disappeared.
"Did you—?!" someone started.
Too late.
A third was taken.
Panic spread.
"What's happening?!"
"Where are they?!"
One man backed away slowly, his gun shaking in his hands.
"…this isn't right…"
He turned—
And froze.
Above him—
bodies.
Wrapped tightly in thick webbing.
Hanging from the ceiling.
All of them.
His breath caught.
"…what the hell…"
Then he saw it.
A figure.
Standing still near the wall.
Red.
Watching him.
Fear snapped into panic.
"SHIT—!"
He fired.
Gunshots echoed through the room.
Again.
Again.
But nothing moved.
Because it wasn't there.
Just a reflection.
His hands trembled.
If that was the reflection—
Then what was behind him?
He began to turn.
Something dropped.
Fast.
Silent.
A scream tore through the room—
then stopped instantly.
Silence returned.
Only the bodies above moved slightly.
Swaying.
[End of Part 4]