"Stop complaining," David said, stuffing his digital recorder into his pocket. "That young guy making the text adventure game—his script is incredibly solid. I'm planning to write a separate feature on him for next week's supplement."
David flipped open his notebook, pointing to the dense notes filling its pages. "Besides that text adventure, I also found a team working on a simulation game. Their economic system is incredibly complex; they've even factored in inflation. The lead programmer is a math major dropout."
Paul leaned in for a closer look. "A math dropout making games? That's a great hook. Readers love stories about fallen geniuses or eccentric prodigies."
"Not a fallen genius," David corrected. "It's a dimensionality reduction strike. The logic behind that economic model is airtight. I'd bet that if they can just make the UI a bit more user-friendly, EA executives will be lining up with their checkbooks, begging to acquire them."
As they spoke, a commotion erupted at the end of the hallway.
A few people wearing Sega-branded uniforms pushed a cart loaded with boxed lunches and stopped in front of a booth.
"What's going on?" Paul poked his head out to look. "Why is Sega's logistics team all the way over here in the South Wing Pavilion?"
David stepped forward to ask around. When he returned, his expression was a bit strange.
"They're delivering meals to an indie studio called Clover," David said, lowering his voice. "Word is they're developing a 2D side-scrolling action game. Sega's Investment Department just signed an exclusive publishing agreement with them this morning. These meals were specially arranged by Sega as a perk for their new little brother."
Paul's eyes widened. "Sega's not even letting these scraps go now? They just announced the Model 3 arcade board and million-polygon graphics this morning, and by the afternoon, they're already here grabbing 2D side-scrollers?"
"Don't put all your eggs in one basket," David analyzed. "The development cost for next-gen 3D games is too high, and the risk is extreme. Sega needs a large number of low-cost, highly creative 2D games to fill the software library for the Jupiter platform and secure that segment of the traditional player base. Acquiring or investing in these small-to-mid-sized teams is the fastest and cheapest way to achieve that."
The scent of capital is always the keenest.
At a nearby booth, a Ubisoft representative was meticulously reviewing a thick contract with a white-haired developer, going over the terms clause by clause.
The developer had created a medieval-themed tactical RPG with a strikingly unique art style. Ubisoft wanted to buy out both the team and the IP.
"The old man is insisting on retaining development control for the sequel," David observed, watching the scene unfold. "Ubisoft's people won't agree. They want the IP, not the headache."
"That's reality," Paul sighed. "Once you take the money, you surrender control. Indie developers have too little leverage against capital."
David didn't respond. He gazed further into the distance.
The entire South Wing Pavilion was both a coliseum and a bustling marketplace of opportunity.
Some would fight their way to fame here, securing investment from major studios and ascending the ranks.
Others would exhaust their last ounce of passion, leaving in disgrace with unsellable code.
IDSA had gathered these small and medium developers here, ostensibly to provide a platform for exhibition, but in reality, it had built a hunting ground for the deep-pocketed giants.
"Did you notice?" David pointed to several empty booths. "The ones without even a whiteboard, just a few chairs left behind."
Paul followed his finger. "What? Someone rented a booth and didn't show up?"
"Not exactly. They were bought out," David pulled out a flyer he'd just received. "Those studios were scouted by distributors on the first day of the show yesterday. They signed contracts overnight and packed up. Today, they've already cleared out to go back and focus on development behind closed doors."
Paul gasped. "That's insane. They're just snatching them up."
"That's the video game market in 1996 for you," David folded the flyer and tucked it into his bag. "Teeming with life, a free-for-all. As long as you have a good idea, someone will pay you to rewrite your code, no matter how messy it is."
Outside the hall, the sunlight slanted, streaming through the high ventilation windows and illuminating the dust-covered whiteboards.
David looked down at his notebook, filled with scribbled notes.
"Let's go," David clapped Paul on the shoulder. "We've got enough material here to keep us writing for a week."
Paul slung the camera bag over his shoulder. "I swear, I'm having a real steak tonight. If anyone mentions a hot dog to me, I'll stuff their head into a CRT monitor."
The two joined the flow of people heading toward the convention center's exit.
The Los Angeles night was sliced into a thousand neon-lit fragments.
David sat at the hotel room's desk, his fingers tapping on the keyboard. Paul snored on the sofa beside him, still clutching half a slice of unfinished pizza.
With a press of the Enter key, an in-depth report titled The Capital Hunting Ground and the Open-Source Utopia: Fire and Ice on Day Two of E3 was transmitted via phone line to the Silicon Valley Online servers.
The article didn't focus on the Sega Model 3's million polygons, nor did it spend much space hyping Capcom's arcade board. Instead, it concentrated on John Carmack's general-purpose engine project, along with the crude but vibrant indie developer market in the South Wing Pavilion.
For the first hour after the article was published, the reaction on the BBS was lukewarm.
Most casual gamers were still savoring the first day's highlights: the N64 and Battle.net.
But as midnight approached, the mood shifted.
In a basement computer lab at UC Berkeley, the fluorescent lights hummed with a low, steady current. The screens' ghostly blue glow illuminated the faces of a few young men.
"You guys have to see this," a guy with a mess of curly hair said, pointing at a forum post on his monitor.
His name was Eric. He was a Computer Science major who moonlighted as a freelance coder, writing patient management software for a local dental clinic.
His two companions leaned in.
"A general-purpose engine? Carmack open-sourced the base code?" The taller of the two read the screen, his voice quickening. "No upfront licensing fees, just a revenue share after profit. Supports cross-platform compilation. Sega and Sony have already invested."
The lab fell silent for over a dozen seconds. The only sound was the whir of computer fans.
For these geeks, who spent their days immersed in C and Assembly, John Carmack's name was synonymous with a god.
And now, that god had thrown the tools of world-creation at their feet for free.
"It says here that some math dropout at the South Wing Pavilion made a simulation game and got a term sheet from EA," Eric said, scrolling down the page to reveal the photo David had taken of the pavilion. "Two hundred thousand dollars. The guy didn't even build a decent UI—it's all based on a rigorous economic model."
Please Support me by becoming my Patreon member and get 30+ chapters.
[email protected]/Ajal69
change @ with a
Thank You to Those who joined my Patreon