In 1945, humanity stood at the threshold of transformation. With the war’s end came not just the promise of peace, but the opportunity to remake civilization—guided by restraint, cooperation, and memory. The path not taken could have led us toward shared stewardship of the Earth, equitable governance, and a collective understanding of our place in the universe. We had the tools, the visionaries, and the warning signs. But the world blinked—and stepped back.
Instead, we chose a slower collapse in the name of progress. Though the final decades of the 20th century offered warnings and reprieves, the first quarter of the 21st made clear that we had learned nothing. As our ability to govern collaboratively eroded, people turned instead to strongmen who offered simple answers—answers that drew not from evidence, but from old fears and familiar prejudices. Climate breakdown accelerated. Inequality deepened. Truth bent itself to power. At every turning point, we opted for convenience over conscience, speed over wisdom, spectacle over truth. The cost of that inertia is no longer theoretical. It’s all around us.
2130 is the future we can still see from here—a world shaped not by cataclysmic war, but by the quiet violence of choices unmade. In this shattered society, a final experiment is underway: not to save the world, but to change what it means to be human. Whether this is our salvation or our final failure depends not on their story, but on what we do with ours.
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