Harvesters: Xylos's Hand.

The Sun's Shadow & Commander Xylos's Harvest The void. A realm of endless mystery, silent stars, and untold horrors. But what if the greatest horror wasn't lurking in the deep black, but hiding in plain sight? Tucked away behind the very source of our light, shielded by solar flares and gravitational anomalies, lies the truth we were never meant to discover: The 3I Atlas. For years, it was merely a whisper, a theoretical anomaly detected at a Lagrange point, forever shrouded in the Sun's blinding corona. They called it a gravitational ghost. A rogue station, positioned for perfect silence, forever hidden from human eyes. We knew it was behind the sun. We never knew what was truly behind its doors. The chilling truth begins not with invasion, but with a process. A systematic, horrifying transformation known only as Subplantation. At its helm, its architect and ultimate manifestation, stands Commander Xylos. Xylos is not merely a name, but a title, a form. Witnesses whisper of the skeletal figure, once human, now a gaunt, terrifying testament to his own work. They describe him standing vigil over his victims, an eerie calm masking a chilling purpose. Some even speak of a "second right hand"—not a phantom limb, but a terrifying extension of his will, a chillingly efficient agent of the Subplantation process. This is where the nightmare truly takes root. Within the 3I Atlas's bio-mechanical corridors, amidst cocoons pulsing with unseen life, Xylos presides over the transformation of humanity. His methods are precise, clinical, and utterly devoid of mercy. From a "painless sedative" to neural override, the human form is meticulously repurposed, its screams swallowed by the metallic hum of the station. The Subplantation isn't just about control; it's about conversion. It's about taking the essence of life and twisting it into something… else. And what of his will? What of that "second right hand"? On distant worlds, whispers have turned to screams. Fugitives, those unfortunate souls who have witnessed the process or barely escaped its early stages, recount chilling tales. They speak of an army. Not of soldiers, but of small, unnerving figures—"like children, but wrong." We call them the Harvesters. But there is one among them who is unmistakable. The "boss," as the witnesses call him. The one who "glitters." That is THE CULLER. The Culler is Commander Xylos's chief field agent, his personal enforcer. Adorned in a black cloak with a subtle, horrifying sequined texture like dried insect husks, The Culler wields oversized, archaic shears—a surgical tool for a grisly task. They are sent to retrieve, neutralize, or "reprocess" any deviation from Xylos's terrible protocol. The 3I Atlas was designed to work in the dark, hidden behind the sun's blinding embrace. But the secrets it holds, the horrors it cultivates, have finally crossed the light-years. The whispers are growing louder. The Harvesters are here. And with them, The Culler. The horrors of Commander Xylos and the 3I Atlas are no longer behind the sun. They are now, quite possibly, in your own backyard. What will you do when the harvest comes for you?