A stir rippled through the crowd.
"You can modify anything in the game," Romero announced, spreading his arms like a preacher. "Monster stats, weapon trajectories, gravity parameters—you can even import your own 3D models and rewrite the entire game's logic. As long as you have the imagination, Quake can become a racing game or a role-playing game. We are handing you the keys."
David stopped writing and turned to Paul.
This was the real news of the day.
In an era where developers guarded their source code with fierce tenacity, id Software was doing the exact opposite.
They weren't just releasing tools; they were actively encouraging players to modify the game's underlying logic.
"They're building an ecosystem," Paul whispered, his voice buzzing with excitement. "These geeks are geniuses. With players creating the content, the game's lifespan will be extended indefinitely."
A rumor that had been circulating in the industry flashed through David's mind.
Word was that Sega's Takuya Nakayama had been in private talks with Carmack.
With the highly open Mod support strategy Romero had just unveiled, the bigger picture was finally coming into focus.
The programmers and indie developers in the audience couldn't contain their excitement any longer. For them, this wasn't just a game—it was an open-source sandbox where they could unleash their creativity without restraint. It was more alluring than any high-paying job offer.
The presentation concluded amidst a wave of fervor.
Romero declined to take questions. He tossed the microphone onto the sofa on stage and walked off without looking back, leaving the audience staring at the dark red game logo projected on the curtain, their anticipation still simmering.
David tucked his voice recorder into his bag. "I've got plenty to write about now. Romero just turned the players into a free development team."
"Send the story to the press center?" Paul asked.
"Not yet." David checked his watch; the hands pointed to 10:30. "The main event isn't over. Capcom's presentation is next, followed by Sega."
"The schedule expanded from one day last year to two this year. It's a bit more breathing room, but only just. And there are even more companies holding presentations now."
Before the heat from Romero's appearance had even faded, the lights on the main stage cut out.
The main stage displayed a one-minute countdown.
"They didn't even give the press time to change their film," Paul grumbled, stuffing a spent film canister into his pocket and fumbling to reload a new roll.
David held his voice recorder close to the main stage's speakers.
ID Software's presentation had been incredibly brief, leaving only a one-minute intermission before Capcom's segment began.
The air in the venue had grown stiflingly hot from the dense crowd. A few of their colleagues in the front row had already stripped off their jackets.
The screen on stage lit up, displaying the familiar blue and yellow logo.
Without any flashy introduction, a Japanese executive in a dark suit stepped to the microphone.
David recognized him as the operations manager of Capcom's North American branch.
He read his opening remarks in accented English, speaking rapidly without pausing for pleasantries.
David flipped open his notebook.
Capcom was exuding confidence this year.
"Two months," the executive said, holding up two fingers. "Resident Evil has been on sale on the Jupiter platform for just two months, and its global sales have already surpassed one million copies."
A short, enthusiastic burst of applause erupted from the audience.
One million copies was a staggering milestone in 1996. It represented a massive influx of cash.
David quickly scribbled the number down.
Sega's Jupiter platform reaped an enormous windfall from this game.
The concept of Survival Horror was completely ignited, even driving hardware sales. Everyone in the room knew this game had fundamentally altered the narrative structure of action-adventure games.
The executive paused for two seconds, waiting for the applause to subside.
"We are not just serving Jupiter players," he said, raising his voice and sweeping his gaze across the front row of reporters. "The port for the PlayStation version is already underway at full speed. In two to three months, players on Sony's platform will also experience the terror in the mansion."
Paul drew a circle in his notebook, the pen tip digging a deep groove into the paper.
"Cross-platform," Paul whispered, leaning in close to David's ear. "Capcom knows how to run the numbers. Jupiter spearheads the charge, raking in the critical acclaim and the first wave of cash. Now they're turning to devour PlayStation's market share. Sega's going to be furious."
David nodded.
Once the exclusivity period ended, it was inevitable that third-party software publishers would seek to maximize their profits. Sony's installed base was equally tempting.
With game development costs skyrocketing, why not earn money from an extra platform?
A montage of Resident Evil began to play on the screen.
The classic shot of the zombie turning its head caused several female journalists in the front row to gasp. The claustrophobia created by the fixed camera angles was magnified several times over on the large screen.
As the video ended, the executive shifted the topic to the arcade business.
"The console market is expanding," the executive said, leaning his hands on the podium. "But Capcom will not abandon our roots. Today, we bring you a brand-new arcade board technology—the CPS3."
The image on the screen changed.
Red Earth.
This was the first game for the CPS3 board.
The announcement trailer combined with actual gameplay footage. High-resolution 2D sprites, smooth animation frames, and stunning special effects. A massive monster occupied half the screen as the player-controlled character darted across, unleashing a series of flashy moves. A lion-headed swordsman swung a giant blade, its arc carving a brilliant trail of light across the screen.
"This visual fidelity is insane," Paul muttered, shaking his head in disbelief as he stared at the screen. "The absolute pinnacle of 2D fighting games. Look at the capes and hair—they're all independently animated frames."
David quickly took notes: CPS3 Arcade Board, Red Earth, releasing at the end of the year.
"A machine of this caliber won't be cheap," David analyzed. "Arcade owners are going to have to shell out big bucks. The question is, can they still afford such high-cost machines?"
The executive continued presenting the CPS2 lineup.
"Super Puzzle Fighter II Turbo, releasing next month."
The screen displayed chibi characters battling with puzzle blocks. The lighthearted, upbeat rhythm eased the tension from the previous segment. Ryu and Chun-Li had been transformed into adorable, two-head-tall versions of themselves, performing funny animations as the blocks cleared.
"Mega Man 2: The Power Fighters, releasing in July."
The classic Mega Man characters fought on the arcade screen, their moves rendered with incredible fidelity. Unlike the traditional side-scrolling levels, this was a pure boss-rush gauntlet.
"X-Men vs. Street Fighter, releasing in September."
When this title appeared on the big screen, the entire room erupted in the loudest cheers of the day. A crossover showdown between Marvel heroes and Street Fighter characters.
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