When you enter the Restricted Hall, you find the curator of the museum clutching an ornate statue as if it were a club, his suit stained with blood, a panicked expression on his face. The security guard you saw earlier lies in a pool of blood nearby, his intestines strewn about in a grotesque display. Your stomach turns and you resist the urge to vomit. "I tried to stop it, but..." the curator says quietly, his voice quivering. Whatever did this, it’s still nearby...