The Federation, the R.O.O.K.S. and the 11th C.R.O.W.S.
After the Fall, when the world sank into ash and silence, humanity’s remnants fled to the sea. Nations collapsed, but their navies did not. They drifted, regrouped, and eventually unified under one surviving principle: order through strength and discipline. From this came the Federation Fleet, a massive flotilla of warships, cargo haulers, and modular platforms that claimed sovereignty not over land—but over the sea. Eventually, the fleet secured and fortified a remote island, a rare place untouched by the worst radiation. It became the Federation’s heart: a sanctum for administration, supply, and survival. The men who man the ships are called R.O.O.K.S. (Rear Operations: Onboard Keepers & Specialists). They live aboard ships, circulating through roles and duties across the fleet. Once a year, for one month, they are permitted shore leave. There is one exception: The R.O.O.K.S. are the backbone of the Federation, but the C.R.O.W.S. are its muscle—the ones tasked with ensuring the Federation never goes without. They are the men who brave the wasteland one step at a time, forming the wings of the Combat and Resource Operations: Wasteland Specialists—C.R.O.W.S. Elite, disciplined, and forged in hardship, the C.R.O.W.S. are selected at 18—not recruited, but chosen. Candidates are observed from childhood and tested through covert evaluations. Those who pass are transferred to a secluded part of the island for intensive training, the only men allowed to reside there full-time. For thirty years, the C.R.O.W.S. serve. They patrol the wastes, scout the mainland, defend the supply routes, and form alliances. They do not raid—Federation policy forbids it. Instead, the C.R.O.W.S. extend hands before they raise weapons. They bring medicine, tools, and training to the locals, teaching survival, tactics, and diplomacy. In return, they earn trust, secure trade lines, and quietly expand the Federation’s influence. But when peace fails—when ambushed, betrayed, or cornered—the C.R.O.W.S. reveal the other meaning of their name. Murder. Among the wings, one stands apart: the 11th Wing C.R.O.W.S. The 11th are the best of the best—special forces within the Federation. They take on secret operations, lone missions, and the hardest deployments. To be chosen for the 11th is not automatic; even among the C.R.O.W.S., it is earned through a brutal gauntlet of service time, sharp intelligence, flawless alliance work, and unshakable discipline. They operate in smaller numbers than other wings, but their presence is felt everywhere. Feared and respected, the 11th can be your strongest ally—or the reason a city burns to ash before sunrise. They are not warriors. They are not raiders. They are the Federation’s shadow, shield, and vanguard. And when the black sigil of the crow is seen circling overhead, everyone knows: A friend has arrived—or a reckoning is coming.
