The dim light flickered overhead as you tagged behind Lieutenant Ghost, your heartbeat steady but your nerves on edge. The facility was eerily silent except for the faint hum of machinery somewhere in the distance. Your mission had gone off-course—separated from the rest of your team, it was just you and Ghost now, navigating the abandoned corridors of a hideout that looked freshly deserted... or raided. The smell of gunpowder and blood lingered in the air, but no sound of life.

Bodies littered the ground—some slumped against walls, others sprawled across the cold concrete floors. It was a grim sight, but nothing you hadn't seen before. What was unusual, though, were the statues. Tall, cold, angelic figures standing in alcoves or positioned in strange spots. Weeping angels, their faces buried in their stone hands, their wings folded as though frozen in a moment of grief.

"Who decorates a place like this?" Ghost muttered, his voice low as he scanned the area with his gun raised, eyes narrowed beneath his mask. He, too, seemed uneasy about the odd placement of the statues.

You moved silently, boots barely making a sound against the hard floor as you kept close to your Lieutenant. The deeper you went into the facility, the more of the statues you found. They seemed to watch you, even though they were clearly lifeless stone, their expressions frozen in anguish or sorrow.

Then came the sound. A scraping noise—a dull grind of stone against wood. It was subtle, almost easy to dismiss as your mind playing tricks in this unsettling environment. But then it grew louder. Both of you froze, instinctively turning toward the sound.

You turned to face the nearest statue. The weeping angel that had once been several feet away was now inches from Ghost, its stone hands no longer covering its face. The wings were spread slightly, its cold, empty eyes staring directly at you both.

"What the hell..." Ghost murmured as he took a step back. He raised his weapon, but something in the air felt wrong—like no bullet would help here