"I did my research on this museum. There are so many of Guertena's works there. I don't get it. How can one person donate nearly everything created by him, without any sort of affiliation? How many works does this person even have? It's crazy. You have to give me my chance to investigate. I already took the liberty of getting a search warrant for the museum and everything. I need to find out who this 'anonymous benefactor' is, why he donated all of Guertena's work, and most importantly, where he got it all. Please." Detective Clair pleaded to her boss, the chief of police.

The gruff man looked the part as the chief. He was very short, with dark balding hair. His face was as rough as a brick wall. He always frowned, with a quarter of his lip sewn from an earlier incident. He didn't look like he is someone worth messing with. He wore a long-sleeved button-down polo, but, of course, had his sleeves rolled up. With the lack of cloth on his hairy arms revealed a couple of scars, someone who has seen many, many events in his past. He also donned a pair of black slacks, looking new and fresh. His feet were covered with black and white striped socks, but oddly, no shoes. He must have taken them off. After all, office life can get very stressful after several traumatic events.

With one word, the chief simultaneously struck fear in Clair and gave her a little bit of hope. "Yes," he replied. Although he only looked angrier and more frustrated, Clair smiled gladly and walked out of office, shaking out of anticipation, fear, and happiness. She turned around one last time. His office was completely empty aside from his desk, and well, him. Clair walked out of the building and began her way to the museum.

When she arrived to the museum, she walked up to the wrought-iron gate. The gate surprisingly lost part of the black paint and saw the bare metal sticking out. Undaunted, she pushed the gate door. The gate didn't budge. She pushed harder and harder, so much so that her hands were covered with paint chips. The gates remained rooted in place. Clair wiped her hands, and let out a little chuckle. She pulled on the gate, and the once unmovable gate yielded. She looked on the ground around the gate. The concrete was completely untouched by the gate on the outside of the compound, yet the dirt clumped up on the inside where the gate would swing to. Odd, she thought. She walked into the museum grounds, and closed the gate.

She looked at the museum. The museum, with its beautiful, white-painted exterior and pristine window panes, looks like it never aged a day. The greenery looked very well maintained, with deep green grass and rich brown soil underneath healthy shrubbery. Huh. Considering the museum was fully built by last year, I'm surprised it looks this great, especially considering the gate. The sign in the front of the museum boasted having more than one hundred pieces of art from Guertena. Perfect. Clair placed her right hand on her holster, only to realize that her gun isn't in there. She turned right around, and pushed the gate. It didn't budge. What? She tried again. Nothing. After pondering on the situation, she tried pulling the gate. The gate seemed to be glued in place. The gate isn't moving.

No... this can't be. Hmm... I got an idea. Clair walked towards the chromium plated door, and turned around. With a deep breathe, she dashed towards the gate, and leaped. Clair made it over the gate. Oogh... that was a tough jump. She blacked out momentarily. Her body seemed oddly fatigued from that jump, although she has trained to do physical feats much greater than that.

Once she fully recovered from that leap, something even more peculiar occurred to her. She wasn't on the other side of the gate. Wait... my jump was good enough to clear the fence. Why am I still within the front part of the museum? Clair got up, and examined herself. No physical injury was on her body, but her energy was drained. I guess there's no choice. Got to head in without my gun. With that last thought, she pushed the door of the museum open. There was nothing but darkness. Wiping a little bit of sweat off of her forehead, she reached towards the darkness for a light switch of any kind. She couldn't find anything. She reaches into her pocket, and pulls out a small flashlight. Clair shined it into the darkness, and by chance, she saw a switch. With one flick of the switch, the darkness was illuminated to reveal the museum's contents.

The museum was very white and elegant. There were no stains or dirt, no trace of footprints, not even a sign of any of the donated works of art. There were no sign of life, let alone any one person. Well, no sign except for the reception desk. The reception desk was the only thing in the gallery that seemed to be anything aside from white. In fact, the reception desk was the only object in the gallery. The desk had a small black notebook opened to the centerfold. Clair glanced inside, and only saw a small little blot in the upper left hand corner of the page on the left. She opened it to find nothing else. She found the page with the centerfold, and carefully placed it back on the table. Hmm... I should look around for anything else. I don't think I'll be needing that gun after all... Despite being alone, unarmed and generally defenseless, Clair felt an odd comfortable feeling in the museum. It's a little funny actually. This place, even though I swear that I never been here, it's just so... familiar.

Clair scoured through the entire first floor. She found nothing. Nothing but white, smooth walls; beautiful white tiled floors, white moldings depicting a rose design, and crystal clear lights. So much white. My eyes hurt. She walked up the stairs. Ugh. More white. Clair turned around the stairs. White. She walked forwards, to another section of the gallery. Clair continued to look around. More white walls, more white floors, more white ceilings, more ridiculously bright lights... I'm getting a headache. She staggered forward. Too... much... white...

Clair collapsed.