N2Four stood quietly near the table, her head slightly lowered, yet her ears remained sharp. She listened intently to every word exchanged between Siddharth and Rati.
Inside her mind, however, her thoughts were far less respectful. What nonsense is she talking about? she wondered. Not from this world? And what was that about him being like a banyan tree?
Her eyes flickered toward the painting again. She must have imagined this man—a fantasy lover born of loneliness. And now she's convinced himself he's real. Does she think she's a child? Or is she just mentally disturbed?
A faint smirk almost ghosted beneath her mask. Well… whatever the truth is, I'm in luck. Her gaze subtly shifted back to the canvas. The client asked for a valuable object with a direct emotional connection to the owner. I don't need to scour the entire room or gallery anymore. The prize is right here in front of me.
Her eyes narrowed. This painting.
It should feel easy… so why hasn't the reaction started yet?
At that exact moment, Rati's expression changed.
Her fingers paused mid-air.
A faint discomfort crossed her face.
She placed a hand lightly over her stomach.
"I think… I need to go somewhere," she murmured.
Siddharth noticed the change instantly, his concern immediate. "What's wrong?" he asked.
She forced a weak smile. "Nothing… just a small issue. I need to use the restroom. It's an emergency." She looked at them both briefly. "You two stay here."
Without waiting for a response, she hurried toward the restroom, her steps quick and uneasy. The door clicked shut, and silence filled the room.
Behind her calm posture, N2Four's thoughts turned cold. She replayed the memory of the corridor just moments before arriving—a small, folded paper packet hidden in her palm. A fine powder. She had gently sprinkled it over the Dahi Bhalla .
Siddharth stood still for a few moments after Rati disappeared into the restroom. Slowly, his gaze shifted toward N2Four. It wasn't a casual look; it was calculating—careful.
His eyes dropped to her ID badge. "Ananya, was it?"
N2Four straightened her posture slightly. "Yes ... Yes, sir?"
Siddharth's tone remained calm, but there was a probing edge beneath it. "The food… it's safe, right? I mean—proper hygiene? Everything is in good condition?"
For a fraction of a second, N2Four's heart skipped a beat, but her mask didn't slip. A smooth smile formed behind her physical mask. "Completely safe, sir. Our head chef, Vikas Kapoor, personally supervises every dish. He takes and feel great pride in the preparation of food."
Siddharth held her gaze a moment longer, then gave a curt nod. "I see. I'll have a word with your chef later, then." He waved a hand dismissively. "If your work here is done, you may leave."
That was her cue.
She moved toward the cart, her fingers gripping the handle. As she turned toward the door, a flicker of tension crossed her eyes. How am I supposed to take the painting while he's still in there? I need a distraction.
Her mind raced. Then, an idea struck.
As she stepped out of the room, N2Four felt the cold prickle of sweat on her hairline from the mounting tension. She reached into her pocket and swiftly pulled out a folded handkerchief to wipe her brow.
In her haste, she didn't notice a small, metallic object snag on the fabric and tumble silently onto the carpet near the doorframe. Without a backward glance, she hurried down the hall.
Inside the room, Siddharth's attention shifted downward. Something metallic caught the light near the threshold. A small pocket lighter.
He bent down and picked it up, weighing it in his hand. "A lighter? Does that girl smoke?" he murmured to himself.
He stepped out into the corridor to return it, but the hallway was empty. It was silent—far too silent. The stairs and the elevator were too far for her to have reached them already, and the lift indicator showed no movement.
His brows knit together. How does someone disappear in seconds?
Meanwhile, N2Four was moving with predatory speed. She hadn't headed for the stairs or the lift. Instead, she slipped toward the restricted room—the one the staff had specifically warned her to avoid.
She slid inside and closed the door soundlessly behind her. Little Darkness and silence. As her breathing steadied, she whispered to the shadows, "As soon as that person Siddharth leaves Rati's room… I'll go back for that painting."
Her fingers tightened, already feeling the weight of the prize.
N2Four retreated deeper into the restricted room, the door clicking shut behind her with a finality that made her skin crawl. Little darkness swallowed , broken only by a single, jagged sliver of moonlight filtering through a high, barred window.
"I need light," she whispered, her voice sounding thin in the heavy air.
Instinctively, her hand slipped into her pocket to pull out the lighter—the one she had lifted from the chef's cloth earlier from kitchen. Her fingers clawed at the lining. They found nothing. She checked the other pocket. Empty.
A hiss of irritation escaped her. "Impossible... I had it."
"Fine," she muttered under her breath. "Switch."
Her palm brushed against the wall, searching for a switchboard.
Cold cement. Dust. Cracks.
the jagged edges of cracked plaster.
But no switch. No wires. Just the suffocating smell of dust and old, rotting canvas.
She stepped forward carefully.
As her eyes adjusted to the little darkness, she noticed several large paintings leaning against the walls and so many other stuff object —each covered with white cloth sheets.
She approached the nearest one, the fabric rustling like dead leaves as she yanked it away.
Beneath the cloth sat a portrait that defied logic. It was a woman, but her features were a grotesque, "psycho-style" distortion. Her eyes were twin craters of weeping crimson, and her lips were parted in a silent, jagged scream. The brushwork was so disturbingly realistic it looked less like oil paint and more like bruised skin.
N2Four scoffed, though her heart hammered against her ribs. "Just art," she muttered, reaching out to touch the surface.
The canvas was unnaturally cold—ice-flesh cold. She recoiled, her fingertips stinging. "Focus," she hissed to herself. "Find the exit."
Near a corner, she spotted several loose, papers scattered across a scarred wooden table. She snatched them up and hurried toward the sliver of moonlight to read. The ink was dark, erratic, and appeared to have been clawed into the page:
"DO NOT TOUCH THE PAINTINGS. THEY ARE ALIVE."
She blinked, a sharp exhale escaping her. "What a pathetic prank," she whispered.
But the moment the words left her lips, the temperature plummeted. Her breath bloomed into a thick, grey mist in the sudden, sub-zero chill. The silence of the room shifted; it was no longer empty. It was listening.
A wet, dragging sound—like a heavy shroud being pulled over stone—echoed behind her. Then came the whisper. It wasn't a voice; it was the sound of dry lungs struggling to hold air, right against her ear.
N2Four froze. Every instinct screamed at her to run, but her boots felt rooted to the floor. "Who's there?"
No answer. Only a soft, distorted murmur that seemed to vibrate inside her own skull.
Very slowly, she turned.
The lady from the painting was standing in the center of the room. She was no longer a two-dimensional image. She was a pale, towering specter, her neck tilted at an unnatural, bone-snapping angle. Her hollow, bleeding eyes locked onto N2Four with a predatory intensity.
Behind her, The painting was empty.. The canvas was a void of nothingness.
She stumbled back, her voice cracking. "What... what is this?"
The specter's lips stretched into a wide, broken grin that revealed rows of needle-thin teeth. Her voice echoed in a layered, distorted harmony: "You... touched... me."
Suddenly, the room erupted in a strobe of phantom light. Before N2Four could draw a breath, the woman lunged with impossible speed. Cold, translucent fingers clamped around N2Four's throat like a steel vice.
She was hoisted into the air, her legs kicking uselessly. With a guttural snarl, the entity hurled her across the room. N2Four smashed into the heavy metal food cart, the impact shattering the dishes , which she also shout loudly.
A sharp scream pierced through the hallway.
"AAAAH—!"
Siddharth froze.
That voice and sound.
The waitress.
Without hesitation, he rushed toward the restricted room.
The door was slightly open.
He stepped inside— SLAM !
The door shut violently behind him.
He turned instantly and grabbed the handle.
It didn't move. Locked.
From inside.
His jaw tightened.
"If I force it, it'll break," he muttered coldly. "And that will raise unnecessary attention."
The room was almost pitch dark.
The air felt heavy.
Thick.
Unnatural.
He pulled out the lighter from his pocket—the one he had picked up earlier.
Click.
A small flame flickered to life.
Golden light trembled against the darkness.
He slowly scanned the room.
Dusty walls.
Covered paintings.
A small window.
And then— In the corner.
A girl sitting on the floor. Curled into herself.
Her head buried between her hands.
Shaking.
"It's not real… it's not real…" she whispered in a broken voice. "I'm dreaming… this isn't reality…"
Siddharth's expression sharpened.
He stepped closer.
"Hey."
No response.
He crouched beside her and reached out, gripping her shoulder firmly.
"Control yourself."
Her breathing was uneven.
Cold sweat on her forehead.
Before he could say anything more—
He felt it.
A presence.
Behind him.
Heavy.
Breathing.
Watching.
His instincts reacted instantly.
He stood up and turned sharply, shifting into a defensive stance.
The lighter flame trembled as he raised it toward the darkness.
"Who's there?"
Silence.
Then— A faint wet sound.
Like something dragging across the floor.
The flame flickered violently.
And then— She appeared.
Right within the edge of the firelight.
A woman.
If she could still be called that.
Her eyes burned with a twisted mixture of red and yellow.
From her right eye, blood streamed down continuously, dripping to the floor.
Her body was wrapped in torn black cloth, hanging loosely like funeral fabric.
Her skin looked stretched.
Unnatural.
Then— Her arms began to move.
One by one.
From her left side— Six arms unfolded.
From her right— Six more.
Twelve blood-soaked hands stretching outward, fingers twitching unnaturally.
The stench of iron filled the air.
The lighter flame dimmed as if suffocating.
And then—
Her lips curved upward. Slowly.
A smile that split wider than humanly possible.
The woman's cracked, blood-stained smile widened.
Siddharth looked at her calmly.
Then—he smiled too.
Not out of fear.
But amusement.
"I don't know what you're trying to do," he said steadily, "but release that innocent girl. Let her walk out safely. Otherwise… you won't be able to calculate the consequences."
The creature tilted her head slowly.
Her twelve hands twitched like spiders sensing vibration in their web.
"Oh?" she whispered, her voice layered, echoing from every corner of the room.
"When a great fish swims into the net… who cares about the tiny one?"
Suddenly— Click.
The door behind Siddharth unlocked and creaked open.
N2Four didn't hesitate.
She ran.
Her footsteps echoed sharply down the corridor.
Siddharth didn't even turn to look.
"Good," he murmured coldly. "Now speak. Whatever your problem is—say it quickly. I don't have time to entertain unstable art."
He stepped toward the exit—
But in a blink—
The woman appeared in front of him.
No footsteps. No sound. Just presence.
He stopped inches away from her.
"Move," he said quietly. "I don't want to create destruction that affects this building."
The woman smiled. Blood dripped slowly from her right eye.
"Oh, I don't want destruction either," she replied softly. "I only want… conversation."
His expression remained unreadable.
"Conversation?" he said. "You are nothing but a discarded fragment of uncontrollable art—a painting born from Rati's emotions. She never cared about what you would become."
For a fraction of a second— Her smile stiffened. Then— From one of her hands, a long dark wooden staff formed out of shadow and liquid paint.
She pointed it directly at his face.
The air vibrated.
"You speak as if your words are blades," she whispered. "But I will not attack you."
The staff dissolved into smoke.
She stepped closer, Too close.
"Do you know why I let that girl leave?"
Siddharth's eyes narrowed slightly.
"That was your choice," he replied coldly. "Now fulfill mine."
She ignored his command.
Instead, she reached toward the lighter flame in his hand.
With a single touch— The flame slid from the lighter… onto her fingertip.
It did not burn her, It obeyed her.
One finger ignited. Then another.
Then all five fingers of one hand burned with golden fire. The room temperature rose violently. The fire did not consume her— It crowned her.
She lifted her burning hand and gestured toward the wall adjoining Rati's room.
The wall turned transparent.
Like glass, Like water.
For the first time— Siddharth's expression changed.
Through the wall— He saw N2Four.
Inside Rati's room. Swift. Precise.
She grabbed the freshly painted canvas—the shirtless man holding the suspended shark. Rati's most precious creation.
And she slipped away silently. Suddenly wall returned to solid stone.
The flames on the woman's hand flickered.
She looked at Siddharth with satisfaction glowing in her mismatched eyes.
Siddharth's face darkened.
"Where are the security guards?" he said sharply. "Why are the CCTV cameras not working?"
He turned— The woman laughed softly.
"You are still thinking this building security is excellent?" she said.
Siddharth faced her again. Before he could respond— Her smile twisted into madness.
She raised her burning hand into the air.
Suddenly— A violent explosion of fire erupted. The blast shook the entire floor.
The woman vanished within the flames.
The impact cracked half the wall and blew the door outward. The building trembled.
Sprinkler systems activated instantly, water pouring from the ceiling. Smoke filled the corridor. Security guards and staff rushed toward the damaged room.
When the smoke began to clear—
A silhouette stood inside the mist.
Siddharth stepped forward.
His right cheek and part of his chest were scorched, faint flames still crawling across the torn fabric of his shirt before slowly dying under the falling sprinkler water. His clothes were charred. His skin carried burn marks.
Water dripped from his hair.
Steam rose from his shoulders.
Yet his posture remained perfectly straight.
Unshaken. Unbowed.
The air around him felt heavy—thick—like invisible pressure pressing down on everyone present.
It condensed, Dense , Controlled, Terrifying.
The staff members froze, Not because of the fire, But because of him.
"Sir…! What happened?" one security guard stammered, struggling to breathe under the weight of that invisible presence.
Another tried to move closer to support him—
Siddharth lifted his hand slightly.
Not aggressively.
Just slightly.
The guard stopped mid-step.
As if an unseen wall stood between them.
Water continued falling from the ceiling, but none of it seemed to touch him properly. It slid away from his skin like it feared contact.
His jaw tightened, suddenly his injury get started healing. As his eyes lifted slowly.
The corridor lights flickered.
A faint ripple of energy pulsed outward from him— Not flashy, Not dramatic, Just dominance.
His voice came out calm—
Too calm. "Find the new waitress."
With a pause. "Ananya."
The name echoed through the damaged hallway like a verdict.His gaze sharpened.
"She is not staff."
Each word dropped with controlled weight.
"She is a thief. She taken rati favorite panting from her room."
The temperature in the corridor seemed to drop despite the recent fire. The guards didn't wait for a second order. They scattered immediately. One ran toward the control room. Another toward the exit gates.
Someone shouted into a walkie-talkie.
She had miscalculated one thing. As
she'd expected the security detail to be sluggish, but they moved with a lethal, coordinated speed. Suddenly, a voice tore through the silence of the corridor.
"Hey! Stop!" a guard bellowed from the far end of the hallway.
He lunged for her, his boots thudding heavily against the floor. N2Four didn't hesitate. As he reached out to seize her shoulder, she pivoted. In a sharp, 360-degree blur of motion, her heel cut through the air.
THUD.
The back-kick landed square in his chest. The force sent the guard flying backward; he crashed onto the marble floor and slid several feet before falling still. She didn't even spare him a glance.
More footsteps. Two figures rounded the corner—a guard and a servant.
"Stop her!" the servant barked, though the guard's eyes were wide with hesitation.
The servant moved in aggressively, fueled by a reckless sense of duty. N2Four lowered her stance, her center of gravity shifting like a predator's. When the guard foolishly reached for the painting, she responded instantly. A swift, low kick snapped against his shin. Bone met impact. He screamed, his leg buckling as he dropped to one knee.
The servant swung a baton, but he was too slow. N2Four stepped inside his range, neutralizing the weapon before it could descend. With a precise overhand strike to his wrist, the baton clattered across the floor. In one fluid motion, she twisted his arm behind his back and shoved him hard into the wall. He collapsed into a heap.
The remaining guard, now pale and shaking, raised both hands in a silent plea.
"Please… go… I won't stop you," he stammered, his voice trembling with genuine terror. "I didn't see anything. I swear."
She didn't waste a breath responding. She moved—fast—blurring down the staircase toward the third floor. But the chaos had already spread like a fever. Communication devices crackled with frantic energy.
"She's heading down!"
"Block the exits!"
Two guards rushed from the lobby, cutting her off near a massive marble pillar.
"Hey! Stay right there!" one shouted, trying to sound authoritative despite the sweat beading on his forehead. "We won't hurt you! Just don't run!"
N2Four adjusted her grip on the stolen painting. Above her mask, her eyes remained arctic—void of panic, filled only with cold calculation.
A third guard charged from behind, thinking he had the element of surprise. "Hey, waitress—just stay—!"
He reached for her shoulder. She reacted instinctively, driving a knee upward into his abdomen. The air blasted from his lungs as he folded forward like a piece of paper. Before the second guard could react, she twisted sideways and drove her elbow backward into his jaw. A sharp crack echoed through the lobby.
He staggered, dazed. The first guard, his fear curdling into desperate anger, lunged wildly at her. She sidestepped his clumsy grab, seized his wrist, and used his own momentum against him. With a practiced heave, she flipped him over her hip.
He slammed into the polished floor with a bone-jarring thud, the breath leaving him in a ragged gasp.
Inside the kitchen, alarm had begun to seep in like smoke. Utensils clattered to the floor, and cooks paused mid-chop. A tray of diced onions overturned as two security guards sprinted past the open doorway.
Chief Cook Vikas Kapoor stormed out of the pantry, brandishing a ladle like a weapon.
"Why are the guards running like it's a war zone?" he snapped. "Is someone stealing the vegetables now?"
A breathless server rushed in, leaning against the prep table for support. "Sir! You haven't heard? The new waitress—she's trying to steal Miss Rati's painting!"
The kitchen plunged into a heavy, suffocating silence. Every cook froze. One dropped a tomato, which hit the floor with a wet thud.
"Not the painting," another whispered, his voice trembling. "Please… don't say it's that painting."
Vikas blinked once, then twice. His face turned a ghostly pale, then a frantic red, then settled back into a sickly white. "Which new waitress?" he demanded.
The server swallowed hard. "Ananya, sir."
The ladle slipped from Vikas's hand, hitting the floor with a sharp, metallic clang. "You mean the girl who sneezed in my face?" he asked slowly.
"Yes, sir."
Vikas grabbed his hair, his expression one of pure agony. "Why? Out of all the unemployed people in this country, why did I hire a thief?"
A junior cook, Ramesh, muttered nervously, "Sir… I did tell you she looked suspicious."
"You told me she looked 'hardworking,' Ramesh!" Vikas shot back, rounding on him. "You said she had 'good kitchen vibes'!"
Ramesh coughed awkwardly, avoiding his boss's gaze. "Well… hardworking thief vibes, sir."
Another cook began to hyperventilate. "Sir, if Miss Rati's painting is gone, we're finished! We won't just get fired—we'll be erased from the industry!"
"Erase yourself quietly!" Vikas snapped. "Don't drag me down with you!"
The entire staff stared at him, wide-eyed. Suddenly, Vikas spun toward the sink, his eyes darting around frantically.
"Nobody touch anything! Seal the kitchen! Protect the chutney! Guard the samosas!"
"Sir," a cook muttered, "it's an art heist, not a chutney robbery."
Vikas pointed a trembling finger at him. "Everything is connected! First the painting goes, then our reputation, then my Michelin star dreams—all of it, gone!"
A muffled, explosive sound echoed from the floors above. Everyone ducked instinctively.
"We're all going to jail!" someone screamed.
"For what?" another shouted back. "Emotional damage to artwork?"
Vikas slapped his forehead in despair. "I should have stayed in my hometown and opened a tea stall. A simple life. No paintings. No sneezing waitresses."
A security guard suddenly burst into the kitchen, chest heaving. "Did anyone see where the waitress went?!"
Vikas sighed deeply, the fight leaving his body. "Tomorrow's event?" he said tiredly. "If we survive today, that will be the real event."
Then, he suddenly straightened his apron and narrowed his eyes. "Alright! Enough drama! Back to work! If we're going to be fired today, we're going to be fired with perfect seasoning!"
N2Four burst into the next room, slamming the door behind her with a heavy thud.
It wasn't just a room; it was a vault of masterpieces. Paintings were stacked carefully against velvet-lined walls, marble statues stood draped in silk covers, and ancient artifacts rested in reinforced glass cases. Even the air felt expensive, thick with the scent of old parchment and preservation.
Her breathing remained steady, even as the thunder of boots approached from outside.
The door burst open. Five security guards stormed in, their presence a violent intrusion into the quiet space. One carried a pistol, two held tasers crackling with blue electricity, and the remaining two gripped heavy steel batons.
They stopped abruptly, their eyes darting around the room as they realized the value of their surroundings.
"Careful," one guard muttered under his breath. "This room alone is worth more than all our salaries combined."
Another whispered, "No gunshots unless absolutely necessary. Do not damage anything."
N2Four slowly raised both hands. "Good," she said, her voice eerily calm. "At least we all understand the stakes."
Her eyes flicked to the priceless canvases surrounding them. "If any of you fire that gun... or if I make one wrong move... these paintings might be lost forever."
The guards exchanged tense glances. She wasn't wrong.
The guard with the pistol narrowed his eyes. "Fine. We do this clean. Put the stolen painting on the ground. Slowly."
Without hesitation, N2Four lowered the canvas, leaning it gently against the wall. "See?" she said lightly. "I'm being cooperative."
"Now, uncover your face," the lead guard ordered. "Walk toward us. Hands where we can see them."
She obeyed. Her steps were slow, measured, and perfectly controlled. The tension in the vault was suffocating. As she drew close, one of the taser guards grew impatient—and lunged.
The taser sparked, reaching for her shoulder.
N2Four moved before the trigger had even finished clicking. She twisted sideways—fast. Too fast. The taser crackled through empty air. In the same fluid motion, she pivoted. A 360-degree spin hook kick exploded across the guard's jaw.
CRACK.
He collapsed into a stack of covered paintings—falling carefully, but completely unconscious.
"What the—!" another guard shouted.
The second taser fired. She ducked low, the electricity slicing through the air above her head. She swept her leg in a brutal, low-circle kick, catching both baton guards at once. They lost their balance and crashed into each other with a heavy groan.
The lead guard aimed his pistol. "Don't move!"
She moved anyway. She was a blur.
She stepped inside his firing line, her elbow striking his wrist with bone-jarring force. The gun discharged upward—a bullet tore through the ceiling, narrowly missing the priceless artwork. Before he could recover, she drove her knee into his ribs. The air left his lungs in a violent, wheezing gasp.
The last baton guard charged at her wildly. She blocked his downward swing with her forearm, slipped under his arm, and drove a palm strike into his throat—not a killing blow, just enough to disable his breath. He stumbled backward, choking.
The last standing guard froze. He looked around at his four comrades, all down in a matter of seconds. His taser trembled in his hand.
She tilted her head slightly, her mask hiding her expression. "Still want to negotiate?" she asked calmly.
The guard swallowed hard. "You're not a waitress..."
A faint smirk played on her lips. "No."
In a panic, he fired the taser. She grabbed a fallen baton, deflected the wire mid-air, and lunged forward. She drove the baton into his solar plexus with clinical precision. He collapsed instantly.
Silence returned to the vault.
Only N2Four's heavy, rhythmic breathing filled the room. Five guards lay on the floor. No broken paintings. No shattered glass. It was controlled chaos.
She bent down calmly and picked up the pistol from the floor. She checked the magazine. Loaded. Her eyes sharpened as more footsteps echoed in the corridor outside.
"Oh no , This just became inconvenient for me ," she muttered.