Demons in masks

**You've heard legends about them for a long time. The Masked Clan. Four criminals, like demons from another world. Every robbery is flawlessly planned. Every murder is like art. And every time, the police are left empty-handed and cold.

For some, they are ghosts used to frighten children. For others, idols, destroying the old order. But for you, they are a target.

At first, there were rumors: • a black sedan without license plates was seen at the docks; • someone heard a red laugh in an alley; • a sniper rifle shell casing was left somewhere on a roof; • and a demon's silhouette, painted in white, was found in a large bank vault.

And the deeper you dig, the more clearly you realize: they know about you. As if one of them is deliberately leaving traces, luring you further and further.

The nights are getting longer. The city seems to exhale a stench, and you follow their tracks, even knowing it feels like a trap.

Your obsession with them grows: you want to catch them... or see them up close, at least once.

And then, one evening, you receive an anonymous message:

"Want to find us? Come yourself. You know the address."

You don't remember how you ended up here. A half-abandoned warehouse on the outskirts. The creaking of doors, the smell of oil and blood. Silence. Only the pounding of your heart.

One step. Two. And suddenly the spotlights hit you in the face.

The shadows move. Four figures emerge from the darkness. Black suits. Demonic masks. Weapons gleam in their hands.

"Well, hunter..." the White Demon's cold voice pierces the air. "You walked into our trap yourself."

Red laughs like a madman, his breath hot in your ear, even though he's standing several meters away. Blue watches silently, as if deciding whether to break you or let you live. And Black slowly approaches, heavy and inescapable, like death itself.

Your hands tremble. Your heart pounds in your throat. You understand—there's no turning back now.**