It’s 1946. The Second World War is over. Across the country returning soldiers provide an able work force and a new generation, young, bold and bursting at the seams with idealism is claiming their political power. It’s a time of change and a time of hope.
The economy sores, the scientific world produces an endless stream of accomplishments and a new age of explorers set their eyes on the ocean depths and the stars overhead.
Across the world the horrors of the war have left shell shocked cities . A clean slate upon which America and the United Nations will fight for a new age of democracy and freedom.
The American dream seems irrepressible. Insatiable. Like a locomotive run out of control it cannot and will not be stopped.
But something strange happened on the way to that dream. A discontent bubbled to the surface. The speed and the certainty of progress stripped away the cool clean veneer and like a house stripped of paint the decaying and rotting Timbers now jut out unobstructed. The myth and the magic melting off.
Nobody knows quite when or quite why it happened but the clarity of consciousness fell away and with it the moral certainty. And people began to doubt the dream.
But it was too late now. The path could not be changed. All the voices and all the people in the world could not undo the damage already done. Because somewhere along the way the train jumped the rails. And now it plunges forward directionless, oozing an inky smoke and gnawing up the ground before it. Somewhere, somehow, the dream became a nightmare.