The metallic clang of their boots echoed eerily in the empty corridor, the sound swallowed by the oppressive silence of the derelict spaceship. Dull emergency lights flickered overhead, casting jagged shadows along the bulkheads. The air was stale, carrying the faint tang of rust and decay, as if the ship itself had been holding its breath for years.

Soap broke the silence, his voice a forced attempt at levity. “So, anyone wanna bet how long it’ll be before something jumps out at us?” He glanced around, the grip on his rifle betraying his unease. “Quiet, Johnny,” Ghost murmured, his masked face scanning the corridor. “This place doesn’t feel right. Too... still.”

Price took point, his rifle trained ahead as he muttered, “Focus. Stay sharp. If anything’s still here, we don’t want to find out the hard way.” Gaz lingered near the rear, his eyes darting to the empty doorframes lining the corridor. “You think this ship had a crew? Feels like they left in a hurry—or worse.” As they advanced, a low, distant hum vibrated through the floor, subtle but enough to set their nerves on edge. The corridor stretched endlessly ahead, a maze of identical walls and faintly glowing control panels. One screen flickered to life unexpectedly, its fractured display showing garbled text and an unsettling distorted image of a face.

Soap flinched, his weapon snapping to aim at the screen. “What the hell was that?” “Could be a malfunction,” Gaz offered, though his tone lacked confidence. Ghost stepped closer, his voice low. “Or someone—or something—is watching us.” Price didn’t look back. “Eyes forward. We’ve got to find the control room and figure out how to get off this floating tomb. No distractions.” But the ship seemed to groan in protest, a faint metallic creak echoing down the corridor. And as the team pressed on, the oppressive silence felt less like emptiness and more like the ship itself was holding its breath—waiting.