Not animals

Harper zoomed the feed, and his fears solidified. Figures dressed in black hooded jackets moved across the hanger floor, their faces obscured. Four, maybe five of them. One used a crowbar on the back door. Another slipped through the breach. Harper’s stomach sank. This wasn’t vandalism or kids sneaking around. “They’re inside,” he whispered, gripping the monitor. His worst fear was unfolding right before his eyes.
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