November 5, 1946
433 kilometers west of Reykjavik, Iceland
The stormy waters were crashing against the massive ship as the crew tried not to lose their footing. Winds blew the rain sideways onto the deck of the ship. Waves crashed against over and over, finally revealing the name of the vessel, the Olympian. After hours of tireless travel, the ship finally came to a stop and dropped anchor. He walked out onto the bow of the Olympian, and smiled to himself. Pointing down at the water, he shouted, "Here!"
September 23, 1952
Barnett College, New York.
"As we can see through George and Sophia Ripley, their so-called utopia of Brook Farm, Massachusetts failed terribly as the young people of the community were forced to do all the dirty work such as repairing roads and slaughtering animals. This caused many residents to leave, eventually causing Brook Farm to collapse."
Dr. Jones, better known as Indiana, scanned the faces of his class, wondering if they understood the idea of utopia. A female student eyed him thoughtfully, and then raised her hand.
"So have there ever been utopias that were successful? It seems like most attempts at utopia just fail after a few years."
Indy removed his glasses, "Never in the history of the world has there ever been a successful utopia. You give people too much freedom with no restrictions and eventually someone will try to take power for themselves."
The bell signaling the end of the class rang. The students began to leave as he said, "Next week we'll be looking at the ancient civilization of Akator and the ancient alien theory as seen through archeological findings."
Indy walked down the hall, grabbed his mail from the receptionist, and sat down at his desk. Putting his feet up, he filed through the mail. Nothing conspicuous, bills, letters from Marcus. He was about to put down the letters when something caught his eye. It was an envelope, a gold colored envelope. How could I have missed this?, he thought to himself. Indy read the address out loud, "To Dr. Henry Jones Jr., from the Office of Andrew Ryan."
Who the hell is Andrew Ryan?, he thought to himself, opening the letter. He put on his glasses and read:
Dear Dr. Jones,
I, Andrew Ryan, would like to cordially invite you to the opening of my new city. A city where the artist would not fear the censor. Where the scientist would not be bound by petty morality. Where the great would not be constrained by the small. And with the sweat of your brow, you too can become a part of my city. So I invite and welcome you to experience the city without kings, the city without gods, and the city of man. Come and experience all that my city has to offer. Come to Rapture.
