The Birth of DOOM
Even though it was company business, handling high-performance computers was one of the most enjoyable tasks for him. The IBM mainframe introduced last year was still an unfamiliar system to Rogers, yet he had studied diligently and now operated it with the confidence of an expert.
“No. It’s still hard to trust x86 servers. We’ll go with IBM mainframes again this time. Besides, there’s no database as user-friendly and versatile as DB2.”
“Yes, sir! An excellent choice.”
“By the way, I heard IBM has developed a new mainframe. Take Remington and Rogers to IBM, have a look, and get a quote. Ah, since we need installations in both the U.S. and Korea, purchase two sets.”
“Two units. Understood. How much budget are we allocating for this procurement?”
At Remington’s question, Yoo Jae-won paused in thought. Thanks to yesterday’s calculations on whether they could swallow Microsoft, he had an exact grasp of the company’s current balance. Available funds exceeded one hundred million dollars.
“Hmm. Let’s start with five hundred thousand dollars. We can invest another five hundred thousand on top of that. If the results are good, we can bring in more later.”
More servers were always better. Although mainframes were expensive, nothing matched their stability for multi-user systems. Until the WWW arrived in America or Korea, PC communications would remain the dominant trend. Even with only several million subscribers, mainframes were the best way to provide stable service to that many users.
Once they secured the operating system and office suite, ID Technology’s growth plan was to evolve into an online and internet company. They could invest any amount necessary for diverse internet services.
Rogers’ mouth fell open. Spending a million dollars on mainframes was already enormous, but the fact that they could purchase even more afterward was staggering. While large-scale investments were common in Silicon Valley, this level of commitment was rarely seen. Moreover, he had not even known IBM had completed a new mainframe. To Rogers, Yoo Jae-won seemed increasingly formidable.
“Ah, while we’re on the subject of money, when will Microsoft’s settlement payment arrive?”
The question landed on Ellen. After taxes, the sum exceeded one hundred million dollars. Receiving it sooner would allow them to ride the major fluctuations expected in the futures market and generate far greater profits.
“Well, we would prefer to receive it today if possible. Legally, however, there is little enforceability until the final ruling is confirmed.”
As expected. “That’s why bankruptcy rumors are circulating, isn’t it? Is there no way to secure the funds before the final judgment?”
Since the new stock market had not yet begun, Microsoft’s market capitalization stood at 3.9 billion dollars as of the twenty-ninth of last year. No fool would drive a 3.9-billion-dollar company into bankruptcy just to avoid paying two hundred million dollars. Yet while this was purely logical, bankruptcy remained a genuine possibility. No one could predict how sharply Microsoft’s stock would plummet when the market opened tomorrow. If it fell below one billion dollars and software sales dried up, the two-hundred-million-dollar settlement could become a crushing burden.
“It seems the best approach is to offer them a few incentives they cannot refuse and collect the payment early.”
They had won the lawsuit, but without a final ruling there was no enforceability. The situation frustrated Yoo Jae-won.
“Very well. Handle this matter as well, Ellen. And since they might actually go bankrupt, it would be wise to place a provisional seizure. If they want a discount, tell them up to twenty percent is possible—but only if paid in a lump sum.”
“Yes. Leave it to me.”
A discount was unappealing. Twenty percent meant forty million dollars—a fortune. Ideally, no discount would be offered at all. Yet through the newspaper library stored in his Memory Palace, Yoo Jae-won had seen countless cases of companies declaring bankruptcy to avoid paying settlements. The odds of even Microsoft behaving so recklessly were extremely low, but one never knew. He decided to dangle the bait anyway.
“And if they truly intend to go bankrupt, inform them we are willing to acquire the company.”
Having cast one piece of bait, Yoo Jae-won threw out the largest one of all.
“Acquire them? The stock price has dropped somewhat toward year-end, but do we have that kind of money?”
“Heh, I have my reasons. The more negotiation cards we hold, the better.”
If an ordinary person had said this, no one would have listened. But this was Yoo Jae-won. Even if he claimed beans could be turned into soybean paste, people would believe him. Ellen nodded gravely.
After a late breakfast that doubled as lunch with the executives, Yoo Jae-won spent the afternoon on personal matters—exercise. He forcibly sent the lingering executives home and descended alone to the hotel fitness center, where he pushed himself through weight training until sweat poured freely.
He was now a first-year middle school student. This was the period when male hormones would surge and muscle would begin to develop. The master plan had specified that it was time to begin managing his body. Having suffered from a weak constitution in his previous life, he intended to build the habit of exercise from a young age this time around.
“Your speed is dropping. One more minute! Swing your arms with rhythm!”
The personal trainer’s shout rang in Yoo Jae-won’s ears.
“I heard you.”
His lungs burned, yet he refused to quit and kept running on the treadmill. Training alone was dull, and proper form in fundamentals like squats, deadlifts, and bench presses was crucial from the start. That was why he had signed up for personal training. He had hoped for a fit, attractive female instructor, but the trainer who appeared was a mountain of muscle from head to toe—clearly a former drill instructor at a recruit training center, judging by his military-style commands. Yoo Jae-won began learning the basics thoroughly under this unexpected regimen.
The next day, still exhausted from the previous day’s intense workout, Yoo Jae-won boarded a plane. Remington and Kim Dae-seok wore puzzled expressions, wondering why their boss looked so utterly drained. He kept silent, certain that mentioning the brutal training would only invite teasing.
In any case, the flight’s destination was not Korea. They were headed to Dallas, Texas, home of ID Software.
Visiting ID Software was, of course, for business. Although he had told the regular employees to rest until the second, Yoo Jae-won—as owner and president—could not afford to relax. Moreover, his companies were not limited to ID Technology. There was also ID Software. And though few remembered it, ID Investment could not be neglected either. Today he would handle ID Software matters in Dallas; tomorrow he would fly to Manhattan to oversee ID Investment. These were the few official items on his American itinerary.
When they emerged from Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport, John Carmack was waiting for them.
“Wow. Nice car.”
The gleaming limousine parked beside John Carmack symbolized the dramatic change in his circumstances. Last year it had been an old Impala; now it was a chrome-adorned limousine. It seemed to embody the prestige ID Software had achieved at the pinnacle of the gaming industry. A uniformed chauffeur stood by, dressed like a hotel bellhop and wearing a cap.
“Don’t misunderstand! I only rented it for the day because the president was coming. I got all the nonsense out of my system last year after the money rained down.”
John Carmack waved his hands to dispel any misunderstanding. ID Software had no need for formal protocol. Buying such a limousine would be pointless when it would be used only a few times a year. Renting when necessary was a hundred times better.
“Thank you! Thanks to you, I get to ride in a nice car.”
Despite the tremendous growth Yoo Jae-won had achieved in 1989, he had never ridden in a limousine before. It was indeed impressive. Even with four people—his party plus John Carmack—in the back, there was still ample space. The driver, clearly experienced with limousines, smoothly exited the airport.
“How is James settling in?”
“He’s very capable. He adapted to the work quickly.”
“That’s a relief.”
James, who had sunk Microsoft on December 6 of last year, had become the media’s darling. Overwhelmed by the attention, he had asked Yoo Jae-won for help, and Yoo Jae-won had sent him to ID Software in Texas. Although he now belonged to ID Software rather than ID Technology, the treatment was first-class, and James was satisfied. His role was to oversee all matters related to Glide X. The library had become the de facto standard for game development; nearly every game now used it. As hardware advanced and new functions were added, Glide X continued to grow. Since John Carmack could not manage both the new project and Glide X, James Augustine had been assigned the task. He was not working alone—he was gathering colleagues who had been laid off alongside him from Microsoft’s Alpha Lab. For James, who had handled massive projects at Microsoft, managing Glide X was the perfect assignment.
“The weather is the only problem. He says it’s too hot, even though it’s winter now. If it were summer, it would be unbearable.”
“Ah, Seattle and Dallas do have quite different climates. Install air conditioning throughout the entire office to create a wall of cold air. Headquarters will cover the installation and maintenance costs.”
“As expected, you’re generous, sir. Understood.”
After some casual conversation, they arrived at ID Software’s office. As soon as they entered the parking lot, the BMW M3s he had gifted last year came into view, parked side by side. They showed signs of frequent use—the shine had faded slightly—but their sleek presence remained undiminished.
When Yoo Jae-won stepped inside, the same thunderous cheer from last year erupted. Since it was lunchtime, they all headed to the steakhouse together, just as before.
“Now then, let’s talk business. You said you’ve finally decided on the next project?”
After a hearty meal that filled their stomachs with beef, they gathered again in the conference room. Yoo Jae-won posed the question. John Carmack rose as the representative, distributed prepared materials to Yoo Jae-won, Remington, and Kim Dae-seok, then began speaking.
“Yes. Some colleagues suggested making a sequel to Wolfenstein, but we decided to create an action game with a stronger world-building. It’s classified as a 3D FPS action game.”
Yoo Jae-won gestured for him to continue. John Carmack, who had worried Yoo Jae-won might demand another Wolfenstein sequel instead of something new, felt encouraged.
“The setting is the near future—2020. Wolfenstein was constrained by World War II weaponry, so we chose the near future to allow a wider variety of weapons. The physical location is Mars. Earth has become overcrowded, so the protagonist belongs to a pioneer group sent to colonize Mars. His job is security, and he wears a sleek suit appropriate for the future era. There’s a sketch on the back of the handout.”
Following John Carmack’s instruction, Yoo Jae-won turned the page and saw the familiar figure: a man in a futuristic full-body suit wearing a stylish combat helmet.
“We designed it as an homage to Keyboard Warrior. Romero was so obsessed with Keyboard Warrior that the design turned out this way. If you don’t like it—”
“No, I like it very much.”
“I’m glad. We thought the suit was perfect too. The story begins when the Mars pioneer group discovers mysterious ruins. They thought the ruins were dead, but touching something by mistake activates them. Then demons pour out of the activated ruins. It turns out the ruins were a portal to hell. The demons annihilate the pioneer group in an instant, leaving the protagonist alone to fight them with every weapon at his disposal! We’re prioritizing single-player, but we’ll put just as much effort into multiplayer.”
John Carmack spoke with growing excitement. Yoo Jae-won felt equally moved. So this is finally happening, he thought with admiration. Then he suddenly recalled that John Carmack had been referring to the game only as “the new project” without mentioning a title.
“Have you decided on a name yet?”
“Ah? No. We haven’t settled on a title. There are many candidates—Hellgate, Space Marine, and so on.”
“Would you like me to suggest one?”
“You, sir? Do you have a good name?”
“DOOM. How about that?”
“DOOM? DOOM! As expected, we have no choice but to acknowledge your sense, sir. It’s an honor.”
Yes—DOOM. At last, the birth of the Doomguy who would strike terror into demons had begun.