No one really knows where the Spectres came from.

They appeared one day, June 18th 2521. The beginning of the end.

They swarmed over our defences, killing anything that breathes, leaving entire planets bare of life.

They are death incarnate.

I don’t know who came up with the name, probably some egghead nut from the Thor System.

They’ve reached the Core now. Lincoln fell this morning, as did Wellington and Mao.

I’ve been reassigned to an as yet unknown post. EXCALIBUR will fire in the twilight, and burn the planet. By the time this message reaches you, I will be long gone.

Perhaps dead.

I will say one more thing before I lose this signal forever.

Run, Maurice. Run.

Run until your engine runs out of gas.

Run until you can’t find anything of humanity.

Run until you cannot run any more, for the Spectres will do nothing less. If they find you, they will kill you.

I can hear them now. Over the microphones, over the speakers, in my head.

I love you so much, Maurice.

Goodbye.

Segment retrieved from encrypted message – ID 701-091-KIP/Sender ID: Lt. Sasha Mendez/15:38 19-8-2525

TAG LEVEL – RED TAGGED WORDS CATEGORY – BLUE POINT

ANALYSIS – SECURITY RISK ADVISED ACTION – ELIMINATE RISK ACTION TAKEN – NONE: LT. SASHA MENDEZ WAS REPORTED KIA ON 20-8-2525

FEED INTERUPTED

RECONNECTING…

RECONNECTING…

CONNECTION ESTABLISHED

PERSEPHONE/16:29 17-10-2525 HARLEY DOCKS

WARNING – SPECTRES DETECTED WARNING – EXCALIBUR BEGINNING FIRING SEQUENCE

HIGH RISK – 94.527814201% CHANCE OF FATALITY

Mal covered his ears as another mortar round flew overhead, wondering for the thousandth time why he’d thought it a good idea for Serenity to stay on Persephone. He’d arrived less than a month ago, a last job from Badger: To pick up him and his slimy cohorts. They’d been there a day before they realised that Badger wasn’t coming. Never would. Since then, they’d been stuck on this once-majestic rock, now reduced to a series of kill-zones and strategic points, most of which had been lost. The only part of the entire planet currently under any kind of ordered human control was the spaceport, and even that was falling. The only thing stopping the Spectres from advancing further were the thousand or so ‘Giant-Cannons-O-Doom’ as Jayne called them. The sound of millions, no, billions of shells being pumped out per second every single day had slowly become routine, until the sound had become part of the routine of life.

The man standing next to Mal grinned through his cigar as he watched the shells pummel through the ranks of Spectres, while Mal put on a pair of Alliance-issue top-of-the-range binoculars. They weren’t supposed to be given out to the general public, but the Alliance reasoned that the next time they’d get to see a Spectre in such excruciating detail; they’d be two seconds from dead. As Mal strained to see the figures in the distance, the binoculars automatically zoomed in and focused on the teaming mass of flesh being ripped open by red-hot lead. Here, you could see how the Spectre got its name.

If you just saw a picture, an average Spectre bore resemblance to a man on the verge of starvation – No hair, no muscle, just skin and bone, with long, gangly arms and legs, claw-like hands with three fingers, and giant feet with three toes. However, that was just until you got a sense of scale. In fact, Spectres were at least ten-foot high, the tallest Mal had ever seen being fifteen-foot. Once you added the fact that their bones were strong as steel, and that they had neither central brain to aim for nor any vital organs to destroy, you began to fear them, and that’s without even factoring in the scream. A lone Spectre could rip open a light tank, or a ship’s airlock. Normal ammunition seemed to literally bounce off their bones as if they were rubber. They didn’t need to breathe, eat, drink, defecate, nor anything else that humanity needed. Adding to the fear were rumours that Spectres could make copies of themselves with the bare resources around them; that they could control energy and mass; that they could fly. The rumours were mercilessly crushed by the Alliance whenever they came across them, but that didn’t stop them from spreading.

The cigar man chuckled as yet another wave was slaughtered by the guns.

‘Goddamn!’ He shouted, ‘I ain’t seen any action this good for five good years!’ Mal focused his mind on the creatures running disjointedly towards the kill-zone like a foal learning to walk. It was comical, yet slightly menacing at the same time. The man turned his working eye on Mal, the other concealed behind a patch.

‘You fight in the war, son?’

‘Haven’t fought since the first war of Independence.’ The cigar man scoffed.

‘Hell, boy, that weren’t nothing but a light skirmish. The second, now that that was a war.’

‘I wouldn’t know.’ Mal focused on something coming over the horizon. The cigar man followed his gaze, and put on his own pair of binoculars.

‘Now what in God’s name is that?’ The thing finally came into focus. About thirty feet high, it bore a resemblance to a giant ape-like Spectre. Guns tore into it, but to no effect. It charged forwards like a tank, oblivious to explosions all around it. The cigar man’s grin faded, but it returned when he pointed to a point about a hundred metres before them.

‘Won’t get past the minefield. That would blow apart a tank, let alone one of these bastards.’ He said. Sure enough, the Spectre ran forwards for another ten seconds before being completely engulfed by an explosion. The sound...All Mal heard was a loud ringing for the next ten seconds. The cigar man popped his head over the wall.

‘Is it dead?’ Mal asked. There was a scream, and four of the creatures ran through the debris. They looked pissed. The cigar man swore loud and long. Meanwhile, Mal made his way off the wall, down to Serenity, narrowly missing a tank. He watched as a flare fired into the sky, clearing the air of dust. The intercom screamed for people to evacuate. Ten seconds later, the wall erupted, and the Spectres came pouring in.