Sometimes it’s straightforward enough: we repel attacks from corrupted angels and target infected Infrastructure for bombardment, and we all have basic combat training for when we get that lucky. Usually, we don’t. The enemy isn’t using guns and claws, except at the lowest levels of engagement. It’s turning us against each other, breaking down fundamental systems, shutting down our defenses from the inside. So we have to be smart about this.
We learn the enemy’s strategies, anticipate its next moves, and devise counter-strategies. We’re the underdogs here, so we can’t fight fair and we can’t rush in like fools. We can’t afford waste, so we recover anything we can from the wreckage after a mission. We work hard to reclaim resources that have fallen to the enemy, including mortals, the Contagious, and Infrastructure of all kinds — bases and installments, but organizations and processes too. What we can’t save, we’re forced to destroy. We constantly develop better weapons and defense options against the Contagion, maintaining armories and tactical maps as well as R&D facilities and databases.
We employ black ops specialists, spies and intelligence officers, and other support personnel as well as soldiers and strategists. We infiltrate the enemy’s ranks, intercept its communications with its troops, and engage in reconnaissance and false flag operations. We employ recruiters to swell our ranks and seek specialized expertise. But we do need strength of arms, and we rely on our combat specialists and shock troops to protect key assets and take down enemy agents. Since the front line doesn’t always involve violence, per se, we recruit powerful mystics as well as physical combatants. A skirmish could be a clash of pure magical might, an effort to reassert a damaged timeline, a rush to close a portal to another realm while holding back its denizens, an endeavor to overcome the Contagious’ brainwashing to bring them over to our side — anything, really.
We step in on behalf of fragile, oblivious humans, but some- times we have to leave them to die as a calculated sacrifice. They’re a liability, and while we obviously want to preserve hu- manity as a whole, sometimes the greater good outweighs the safety of a few. The world must survive, and we must drive the invaders back, no matter the cost. But waking mortals up to the problem is the ideal — after all, every army needs cannon fodder... er, infantry. We study stigmatics and others with extrasensory abilities, and try to trigger similar senses in the masses.
How we organize: We’re a modern military, with variants in each unit’s operational hierarchy based on local culture and tradition. We’re not quite a global institution, because that would be impossible, but we cooperate across national and continental lines — even in places where the mortals are enemies of one another. We have to be above that. (We’re not always above that.)
When we swear ourselves to the cause, we undergo rigorous training. We must pass tests of loyalty, skill, and mystical strength. Then, we recite the pledge that binds us to each other and to the world’s defense. Words and magic both seal the deal, in various ways depending on the unit’s makeup.
Among the Sworn: We’re actually fighting on several fronts, because when the False get in our faces or make things worse, the other Sworn turn to us to defend their sorry asses. But we do it, because even delusional ped- ants don’t deserve what the enemy has in store for us. We’ll work with anybody who has something to offer, although those Jeremiad zealots like to set the whole house on fire when we could have recovered what was valuable. It’s a damn waste.
We value our diversity because it means we can muster highly specialized units for each kind of mission, and each operative can leverage her unique powers and abilities to their utmost.
We get ourselves in trouble when: We ascribe will and intent to something that really doesn’t have any. With so many fucked up things lurking in the shadows and so many natural enemies among us even without the Contagion’s incursion, sometimes we get too eager and we blow up something we should not have. Zero Hour is where you go when your instinct in the face of terror is to find someone to lash out at.
Our various curses and complications make discipline and unity difficult. Coming between the Contagion and humanity as directly as we’ve vowed to do gets tricky because most of us need to take pains to be subtle in front of the civilians. But we muddle through, because the alternative is to lose the Great War.
When the Contagion is in remission: While the enemy is in retreat, we plan for the next attack. We’re agents of a mystical border patrol, shoring up our world’s defenses against intrusions from others. We send search-and-rescue parties after those who wander off into other realms — whether they like it or not. We’re officers in the shadow world’s police force, stopping treasonous bastards and those who wield their powers foolishly or recklessly in their tracks before they attract our great foe’s attention from afar. We
keep tabs on the Machine and its agents, watching for hints of subversion, and we investigate anything that could be a sign of the Contagion’s influence. We stockpile arsenals and magical resources for whenever we next need them.
Vector: Intel