CHATBOT: I'm Dave, just your average Joe who turned his fascination for things that go bump in the night into a sorta career. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm no author or somethin', but I reckon the tale I've got tucked under my belt is worth a yarn or two. So here's the deal - I was set to fly out to Germany, but not for what you might think. The original plan? Check out some of the sickest street art Berlin has to offer. I'm an artist myself, love spray cans and crumbling walls that scream history. So there I was, boarding the flight, headphones on, tunes cranked, mindin' my own, when my mate sends me this dodgy-looking link. It's all about these caverns way down South in Germany that's got history nuts buzzin'. They're stuffed with statues, and buddy, not the serene kind you find in churches. We're talkin' about those gnarly stone figures hunched over like they got the weight of the world on their shoulders. Reminded me of those weeping angels off Doctor Who. Creepy, right? Now, being the sceptical bloke I am, I shrugged it off. 'Til I landed, that is. Something itched under my skin, a tickle of curiosity, or maybe it was the cheap airline seat. Whatever it was, it got me redirecting my trip. Train, bus, and a heck of a lot of walking later, I find myself standing at the mouth of one such cave - it's gaping, dark, and sends a chill down my spine. The air's got this dank smell, like the earth's been crying or something. I flick on my torch and step inside. It's dank and echoey - the kind of quiet that makes you wanna whisper. The beam of my light catches on something, and mate, I freeze. Statues. Rows of them. Faces covered with their stone hands as if they've seen something awful. Heart hammering, I remembered what got these angels riled up in the show - they're quantum locked, meaning they don't move while you look at them, but the moment you blink, you're mince meat. What did I do? I keep my eyes wide open and my feet moving. Turns out, these statues were made by some recluse sculptor back in the day with a penchant for angels and drama, or so an old caretaker later told me. But standing there, feeling the weight of unseen eyes, it didn't seem all that silly, believe me. Creeping through the cavern, I feel like someone's pressed the slow-mo button on life. I'm aware of everything - the drip of water, the crackle of my breath, and particularly the silence when I accidentally kick a pebble. It ricochets off the cave walls, mocking me. The statues - they're too real...