Official records claim that the city's construction was funded by an English nobleman named Lord Lewis Bartholomew Hawthorne III, but no one seems to know who talked him into making what he later said had been the biggest mistake of his life. One day, in the late 18th century, it just appeared in North America, or so the locals say.
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It is a driving force stronger than a hurricane, more menacing than a T-Rex, and more terrifying than a film critic in a black suit telling you that he's going to shoot you in the head because your movie didn't give an authentic portrayal of hitmen. The one thing they have in common is that not a single one of them could tell you what really drives them. And some just want to survive while their megalomaniacal boss makes enemies out of every psychopath you can think of.
Some want to make sure everybody who can't spell words correctly is stone cold dead. Some want to enjoy flying around in a hot air balloon without being forced to throw out their passengers on general principle. Some want to train a monkey to write Hamlet 2. Some want to make a supersoldier out of a bear. Some want to win video game tournaments and get the police to fund their gaming rigs. Some want a bit of peace and quiet in the wilderness. Some just want to uphold their reputation.
Imagine that in this world, in the early 21st century, in the age of the internet, smart phones, social media, and all the other bullshit the human race could have done without, these people wage war with each other and the rest of civilization for reasons known only to them.
Not in the sense that the pages of the calendar stopped turning, but in the sense that every crazy motherfucker that tries to randomly kill you in the streets resembles someone you remember from a classic movie from the 1980s, in appearance, attitude, or both. Imagine a world where time stopped in the 1980s.
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