When the bombs fell, the hardy and patriotic survivalists of Colorado Springs were ready. We burrowed deep and rode out the nuclear rage and the burning dark in our bunkers. We were the last bastion of Old America and the seeds of the new, waiting to bloom when the sun returned.

It never quite did, though. The cold never left Colorado, and the storied Hundred Families that survived Armageddon found that their former land of plenty had become an icy, bandit-haunted wasteland. We fought battles over every bite of food. Sickness came then. Starvation. Cannibalism and atrocities uncounted.

No one knows when the Patriarch was born. We only know the stories of his family’s rise to power. We know he killed his twin with his own hands, and hung his mother for stealing from him. We know that the Dorsey clan crossed him, and what happened to them after, down to the smallest child. We know he hacked and hammered his nation into place until every family and faction answered to him. Even the savages roaming the frozen plains fear the Patriarch.

No one knows when he was born, but he won’t live forever neither. His sons and daughters are fighting, breaking his nation into scheming factions. The warlords and the refugees from the dying east are already clawing at his borders.

At best, a war is coming. At worst?

Annihilation.
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