Last Transmission
Uh.
Okay.
I don' know how long this thing'll keep recordin', so I'm just gonna talk.
There's nothin' else to really do now. Just sit here. And talk.
I was on the shuttle. Guess that's why I'm not dead yet. I drew the short straw on scoutin' the dark side of the station. The part with all the bodies still floatin' around. Bodies don' rot in space. They just be trapped there. Forever. Floatin' a bit here and there, but just there.
I can still hear 'em...
We all heard stories. Everybody done heard the stories. 'Bout people losin' it on the edge of space. Goin' bad. Goin' wrong.
This wasn't that. Least I don't think so.
Was worse.
Oh gods, I can still hear 'em... Makes me regret not payin' more attention to my mama's preachins. I shoulda listened. I aint never shoulda come out here. Shoulda stayed planet side and worked the mines like my daddy.
The comms went crazy. Screechin' and squealin'. So bad I had to cut 'em a'fore my ears started bleedin'.
I thought it was a glitch in the comms systems... Till I realised it weren't.
It wasn't mechanical or interferance.
Was the screams. I didn't hear nothin' at first because space aint' got no sound.So I didn't hear the other ship come in. Didn't hear it latch onto ours and smash through the hull.
I didn't hear nothin' until their comms opened up to mine and the screams came through. Screams of my friends. My capt'n. Of Martia.
I didn't know that though until I cut the comms and turned on the holo feed.
They weren't one thing. They were... People. Bits of people. Different kinds. I saw different species I recognised and more I didn't. They was... They was all stiched together. Different pieces of different folks all bolted together to make a new one. Too many arms. Faces didn't match. Their skin was...
There was blood everywhere. The floors. The walls. Everywhere. It was so red on my screen, but I couldn't look away.
They didn't move right...
Like they don't finish doin' one thing before startin' the next. Like joints don't matter. Movements are wrong. Just wasn't right.
They didn't kill 'em right away. My friends. My crew.
Was worse.
I shoulda cut the comms but I couldn't. I couldn't... I couldn't move. Couldn't think. All I could do was watch it all happen. Different video screens. Different angles of it all.
It was so much worse, oh my gods... I can't stop seein' it all in my head. It weren't right. They weren't right.
There was so many... How was there so many? They poured through the break in the side of the ship like a ragin' river of demons.
More and more and more... They didn't stop. Just a flood.
I watched what they did do my crew.
The things they did... I could tell they wished for death before it came. I wished it too. I sat here prayin' they'd die long before they finally did.
They tore my friends apart. Flayed their skin. Pulled off their fingers. Raped 'em. Ate 'em. Pulled 'em apart. All while they was alive.
They weren't people. They was monsters who used to be people, but they wasn't alive. How could they be? They was dead. Walkin' dead. Moving' like a flood.
Demons. They's demons.
I don't know how else to say it.
I'm runnin' out of air, I think. Don't matter. There ain't no hope for me here.
They did thing's to them... Kept doin' it. Didn't stop. Long after they stopped movin' they kept doin' it.
I watched them drag my friends away through the hole in the hull and onto their ship. What was left of 'em.
Piece by piece.
They was all different but they moved the same when they wasn't tearin' them apart.
Then they tore the ship apart. Panels and florrins. Pipes. Everything. Everything until I got the alert the life support system was gone. The Oxygen was gone. But they kept movin.
They didn't need air.
Why not? Everything needs air. Everything.
They carried all the pieces of my ship and crew back to their ship.
Until the holo stopped workin' and I couldn't see anything. Couldn't hear nothin.
I watched from my ship window until their ship disengaged from ours, and the pressure tore apart the port side.
I don't know what to say except that's what I saw.
Monsters made of men. Monsters worse than the stories they say to scare us from takin' these jobs.
Truth is worse than stories.
I wonder if this is what happened to this station we came to salvage... Was it the demons? These... these reapers? Reapers of death. That's what they is.
I shoulda listened to my mama.
Summary
The Reapers are a widely circulated myth among long-haul spacers, salvagers, and frontier crews operating near the edges of the Reach. Accounts describe them as hostile entities encountered in deep space, most often in regions beyond established trade lanes and patrol routes.
In common retellings, Reapers are said to attack vessels by forcibly latching onto hulls, breaching ships without warning, and overwhelming crews through close-quarters boarding. Survivors, where accounts exist, describe the attackers not as a single species but as grotesque amalgamations of multiple beings, allegedly stitched or fused together from different sapient races. These composite forms are often reported to exhibit unnatural movement, extreme resistance to environmental hazards, and complete disregard for vacuum exposure.
The myth consistently attributes extreme violence to the Reapers. Stories describe prolonged torture, sexual violence, consumption of victims, and the desecration of bodies. Many versions claim that victims are not merely killed, but dismantled and repurposed, either as raw material for the Reapers themselves or incorporated into their vessels. Reaper ships are typically described as patchwork constructions, assembled from salvaged components of destroyed ships rather than purpose-built craft.
There is no consensus within the Reach regarding the origin of the Reapers. Some believe they are the result of psychological collapse among crews exposed to prolonged isolation and deep-space conditions. Others argue the myth functions as a deterrent narrative, designed to discourage exploration or protect valuable regions of space. A smaller number of fringe theorists suggest the Reapers represent a real, unknown force operating beyond the Reach’s borders.
A recurring element in Reaper mythology is the assertion that they operate collectively, often described as a hive-like presence, though no agreement exists on whether this implies centralized intelligence, shared consciousness, or simple coordinated behaviour.
Official Reach authorities classify Reaper stories as unsubstantiated and caution against treating survivor testimonies as reliable evidence. Nonetheless, the persistence of similar descriptions across unrelated crews, systems, and time periods has ensured the myth remains deeply ingrained in spacer culture.
Source: Shuttle auxiliary recorder
Speaker: Unregistered crewman
Status: Last transmission
Speaker: Unregistered crewman
Status: Last transmission
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