Primal Gambit

Chapter 10: Doerrman's Origin

The snow-capped highways, a blisteringly frigid and perilous gauntlet of discarded vehicles and hidden marauders was Ridley Doerrman's introduction to The Dark City. Gazing out the frosted back window in sheer wonder of the possibilities that lied beyond, the young boy shivered. His youthful and naïve mind was not ready to be robbed as it soon would. He could not help but revel in all that the city had to offer – a fresh start for a caravan of relatives all searching for new beginnings.

By the time he became old enough to take advantage of the numerous opportunities offered by the city itself, negotiations overseas simultaneously ruptured and the small, isolated conflicts began to boil and fester. Pockets of fighting manifested into full-blown battles. It was at this tipping point that the United States of America indecisively plunged itself into the depths of Hell – at war with the superpowers across the polluted seas and the dire straits: Russia and China.

The second Cold War.

The first and final Resource War.

Following decades of unsustainable conflict, the war earned the infamous moniker. Unmanned and underprepared, the States declared an emergency draft for all willing and able youth. He along with all others capable of holding a rifle and taking commands were transported to massive colonies – entire Midwest states that had been reformed into training facilities and military bases. Shock troops were churned out weekly at so rapid a pace that waiting lists were formed to discharge them off-site and onto the distant battlefields.

A young Ridley Doerrman was ripped from the heart of The Dark City – not something he was entirely upset over, for he was beginning to see the harsh realities of the current state of affairs. He was somber to leave the relatives that had built his life for him, but draft-dodging often resulted in one of two outcomes: forced exile from the country or unpaid government labor until death; neither of which sounded any fairer than serving a country he didn't care for. What became fair in his mind was the idea of fighting for the freedom of those he cared about.

When he arrived at the sand stripped, arid desert that began to take over the vibrant forests of Siberia; it became clear to him that finding a place or person free of the defile of human interference was nearly impossible – a far cry. It was apparent when he stepped off the carrier, the thick air unbreathable through the dense smog fallout of chemical carpet bombings. An entire landscape had been deformed into phantom countryside – ghosts and poltergeists treading the land once walked by men, women, and children.

Families. Communities. Villages. Neighborhoods.

A once beautiful, untamed country had become inhospitable to life and still the warring factions fought for it. After some time of duty: days spent knelt in the shelled carcass of a forgotten townhouse, rifle barrel resting out of a shattered window for hours, protecting and watching over the dirt and the rubble; Ridley Doerrman realized what he was really guarding: the precious remaining resources deep underneath the bombed village.

Sleepless nights amongst the squad of grunts resulted in long talks spent around makeshift campfires constructed from the scorched remains of farmhouse scaffolding. Stories of home were oftentimes no better than the stories of war. A gritty image began to take form in the ever-ending impressionable mind of the late teen.

Perhaps the warfront and piles of the dead were more appropriate for the times than home.

The vague lines blurred.

His comrades were afraid of the possible outcomes of the war, but Ridley was beginning to see the truth. It was just that evil men were held accountable for their vile acts.

What better way than total nuclear annihilation? He often thought.

It would cleanse the earth of the parasitic organism known as man.