The Earth has burned, and civilization lies in shambles at the hands of an overwhelming alien force. One that views us as a resource - mere cattle - hosts in an endless war across the stars. Parasitic, ruthless, and appearing without warning, humani...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Danny's Definitive Debrief: The Reaver Reckoning
Welcome, brave survivors of humanity's final battle! It is I, your fearless and slightly courageous leader, Danny. If you are reading this, it means you have managed to avoid becoming alien chow - congratulations!
Today, we delve into the depths of horror to uncover the cream of the creepy crop: the Reaver. This monstrous creature strikes fear into the hearts of all who encounter it, with its razor-sharp claws and blood-curdling screeches echoing through the desolate streets. But do not let its terrifying appearance fool you, for beneath its hideous exterior lies a cunning predator, lurking in the shadows and waiting for its next unsuspecting victim. So hold on tight, my fellow survivors, as we journey into the heart of darkness and face the ultimate terror - the Reaver.
A Portrait of Pestilence: The Reaver Unveiled
If you've been living in a secluded cave for the past few years and have just emerged to find the world overrun by mind-controlling parasites... well, I envy your ignorance. But let's catch you up to speed on these little buggers. I mean, honestly. There's no way you don't know what these things are or what they look like, but hey, in the interest of continuity, let's do this thing.
Reavers are what happens when you rather stupidly allow a Headhumper (or Driller, if you're in polite company) to attach itself to your neck. Gruesome, painful... Death? I guess we don't know the answer to that question.
Some people believe that your consciousness lives on while the little blue squid invaders puppeteer your meatsuit, but it's hard to say. And I choose to believe that isn't the case because fuck that. I keep a knife in my pocket expressly so that if an HH ever gets ahold of me, I can simply cut my own cock off and bleed to death. Seems like an easier way to go, honestly.
Anyway, gruesome, painful (insert speculative horror here), followed by the slow transformation into one of these bastards. These cheeky parasites love a good neck dive, drilling into the spinal column at the neck's base, turning Average Joes into monstrous Picasso paintings.
A bipedal beefcake that's been through the extraterrestrial blender, this is, rather unfortunately, your garden variety boogeyman. You'll see more Reavers in our world than anything else. Hey, how do Reavers clean their spears? They run them through the Wash! Ha! Haha! Alan Tudyk is probably actually dead now though. Aw. I made myself sad.
I'm not kidding; This thing looks like Freddy Kreuger hate-fucked Wade Wilson. Not pre-superpowers-op Wade Wilson, no no, there's nothing Reynolds handsome here. I'm talking about full-blown, cancer-ridden Deadpool Wade Wilson. And left the resulting offspring in a radioactive waste disposal facility to raise itself on plutonium and rats.
Standing a monstrous 2 meters tall, the Reaver's got a physique that screams "I pick up heavy things and smash them," including, but not limited to, your hopes and dreams.
Its pallid skin is wrapped tighter than 2004's jeans, and it's got enough sinew to make a butcher blush. It's like someone fed a human HGH, then threw in a touch of eldritch horror for flavor.
The face—oh, the face—is a masterclass in terror. No more Mr. Nice Eyes. The eyes look like they've been ripped out, and the soul went with them. And the smile? Forget about pearly whites; this maw's got a full set of deadly daggers, perfect for carving out a niche in the "things that haunt your dreams" category. Dental hygiene is not a phrase in their vocabulary. Think a picket fence made by someone who only had a chainsaw for a tool.
Danny's First Date with Destiny (and Death)
Let's rewind to the early days, back when the internet was still a thing and people used their brains for trivia nights, not emergency rations. There were reports of Aliens in the sky and everything was going to shit, but for those of us nowhere near the coast, Netflix still worked. Last movie I ever watched? Love and Monsters. Damn right, that's where I GOT THE IDEA FOR THIS GUIDE! How cool is that shit?
It was in this twilight of civilization that I first bumped into Mr. Reaver. Picture it: the city, not yet a full-blown ruin but definitely riding the struggle bus, and yours truly, thinking maybe, just maybe, I could outsmart the apocalypse. If I could just find what was apparently the last bottle of Pepto-Bismol in existence. Pro-Tip, don't eat moldy bread, it does bad things.
I was navigating the urban jungle, all stealthy-sexy-James-Bond-like, when the world decided to drop the bass. Enter stage left: the Reaver. It ambled out like the main act of a horror show, and let me tell you, my heart wasn't just thumping; it was moshing to the beat of oh-crap-oh-crap-oh-crap. Straight headbanging. I'd never seen any kind of Turned before then, I had no idea what I was looking at, and I'm damn lucky I didn't shit myself to death in that moment then and there.
This thing was a flesh-tank, a walking fortress of dread. It had the kind of posture that said, "I don't do yoga; I do demolition." I was hiding, trying to blend in with the concrete and failing miserably, as it casually flipped a car aside like a toddler with a toy.
Society was hanging by a thread, sure, but this was the snip-snip that had me ready to call it curtains. I scrambled, ducked, and dodged my way to behind a dumpster that smelled like a mix of homeless piss and heroin. Peeking through the space between the dumpster and the wall, I could see it—hulking, searching, a predator in its unnatural habitat. Sniffing, growling, drooling. All the things a six-and-a-half foot tall monster does, you know what I'm talking about by this point.
I waited until it slunk away, then, dooming a sock to a rather ignoble existence, wiped several unmentionable substances from my leg, and ran away.
Danny's Guide to Dodging Doom
If you ever find yourself playing peekaboo with a Reaver, here's a pro tip: don't. Instead, consider the three Rs: Run, Regroup, and Remember you don't have to outrun the Reaver, just the person next to you (kidding... sort of).
Honestly, though, out of all the Turned, these guys are the weakest. I guess that doesn't say much about us, does it? You can take them down with a few well-placed shots. Hell, if you've got a machete, or prefer to travel in style with a sword like I've seen some do - and where the fuck are you guys getting swords? - you can hack them apart pretty easily. Problem is, like high school girls on their way to the bathroom, these things travel in packs. If you decide to take them on head on, don't get too focused, and if you don't have someone else watching your back, best do it yourself.
Final Danny-isms
Alright, apocalypse aficionados, that's the skinny on the Reaver. They're what happens when evolution gets drunk and decides to mess with humanity. Remember, in this brave new world, the key to survival is a mix of speed, stealth, and a solid sense of humor.
Keep laughing, keep living, and for goodness' sake, keep away from anything that looks like it could benchpress a small vehicle.
