Ghosts in black, carving silence from steel.
We don’t ask. We don’t warn. Wrecks vanish. Crews disappear.
What drifts belongs to the void — and the void belongs to us.
No founding date. No registry. No verified survivors.
First mentions appear in fringe-system blackboxes—half-burned comm logs and distress calls that end mid-word.
A single phrase always precedes the silence:
“Reapers inbound.”
Some say they were born from the wreckage of dead empires.
Others claim they’re deserters, stitched together from war criminals, failed pirates, and forgotten ghosts.
What’s known is this: wherever ships vanish, Hullreapers have been.
They don’t ask for permits.
They don’t offer terms.
They mark the hull, board in silence, and carve the ship clean.
Derelicts. Disabled freighters. Abandoned wrecks.
The Reap is methodical. Brutal. Efficient.
No survivors. No witnesses. No mercy.
Sometimes, they leave behind their sigil—etched into bulkheads, burned into hatches.
Other times, the ship simply disappears.
In Pyro, the name is spoken like a curse.
In Nyx, it’s whispered at night when the signal static thickens.
And in Stanton, too clean for its own good, people pretend they don’t know the name at all.
The Hullreapers aren’t a crew.
They’re a consequence.
They take what drifts.
They answer only to the void.
And when they come, the question isn’t if you’ll survive.
It’s whether they’ll take your steel…
…or your soul.
We are the silence after the signal.
We are the cold hands that reach into broken hulls.
We are not pirates.
We are not thieves.
We are Reapers.
Salvage is not our job.
It is our rite.
In every drifting corpse of metal, there is truth.
And in every truth, there is something worth taking.
—-
We operate outside the systems that pretend to control us.
Outside their permits, patrols, and propaganda.
We reclaim what others leave behind.
We breach wrecks in zero-G.
We strip hulls. Extract secrets. Burn trails.
And we never ask permission.
If it drifts, it belongs to the void.
And the void belongs to us.
—-
No grave too deep.
No survivor unmarked.
No claim unanswered.
We do not delay.
We do not explain.
We do not forgive.
Steel or soul.
If we come, you’ve already lost one.
—-
You will earn your patch through the Reap Trial.
You will operate in silence, in shadows, in systems that chew softer men into blood and rust.
You will be trusted with nothing—until you are feared for everything.
This is not a game.
This is a consequence.
Welcome to the Reap.
The Hullreapers exist to execute high-risk salvage and reclamation operations across unregulated or lawless space.
We reclaim what others abandon, extract what others fear, and answer only to the void.
We are not mercenaries.
We are not contractors.
We are Reapers.
Steel or soul — what drifts is ours.
—-
The Harvester — Absolute command. Final voice of the Reap.
Scythe Lords — Operational leadership. Coordinate missions, oversee ranks.
Soulkeepers — Recruitment and initiation handlers. Enforce the Reap Trial.
Claimwrights — Logistics and claim allocation. Manage salvage operations.
Echo-Callers — Maintain external comms, propaganda, and branding.
All other members fall within the RANK LADDER:
Bloodchief
Bone-Captain
Ironhand
Gutted
Scrapwalker
Null
—-
Joining the Hullreapers requires:
Failure in the Trial results in rejection—or worse.
—-
—-
Hullreaper operations include:
We operate primarily in Pyro, Nyx, and the edges of Stanton.
—-
Those who leave do so without claim, title, or name.
All who betray are marked.
No grave too deep.
No signal beyond reach.
—-