The Last Transmission
You are the last operator of a remote radio station. A storm is distorting reality. You monitor transmissions. You file reports. Then a voice cuts through the static. Not yours. Not possible. Something is listening back. You answered. You shouldn’t have.
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16 itemsAbout the Game
Built on dread, isolation and the slow, inevitable crawl of something watching you.
You are the sole operator of radio station 23, deep in the mountains.
Your job is simple: monitor the storm, log transmissions, and report your findings.
Then a signal cuts through the static.
Not yours. Not local. Not possible.
A voice whispers your name.
The static shifts.
You should stop listening.
Somewhere across the lake, a house still waits for someone who never left.
The storm devours the mountains. Peaks vanish beneath rolling clouds.
And you are completely alone.
Or so you thought.
A Minimalistic Psychological-Horror Mystery
The Last Transmission is a short, first-person psychological horror game built around isolation, atmosphere, and slow, creeping dread.
You play a radio operator trapped in a remote station, using a radio, phone, and typewriter to make sense of unfolding events as reality gradually unravels. The horror is subtle and narrative-driven, focused less on shocks, and more on the quiet realization that something is deeply wrong.
Your Tools
The Radio – Track storms. Tune forgotten frequencies. Intercept transmissions that shouldn’t exist.
The Typewriter – Log the weather. Log the voices. Log what’s happening, before it starts logging on its own.
The Phone – Your only link to the outside world. Unless it’s been lying.
Your World
The Station – A remote outpost buried in silence.
The House – Abandoned across the lake. No lights. No footprints. And yet, someone turned on that lamp.
The Storm – Unnatural. Alive. Something is inside it, and it’s getting closer.
The Mountains – Vast, cold, and empty. An endless alpine wilderness... with a single red light glowing far in the distance.
A Horror That Listens Back
You listen. You log. You follow the signals.
The logs already have your voice.
The calls do not stop.
Someone has been listening, and the institution you work for designed this shift to be exactly your last.
