Synergies and New Frontiers
Hawkins, the president of Electronic Arts, wasn’t under the naive impression that ID Technology’s next release was guaranteed to be a smash hit. Having founded a company specializing in game development and distribution and steered it through countless ups and downs, he had seen more than his share of sequels flop even after the original had been a runaway success. Yet the thought still thrilled him. Even if the follow-up underperformed critically, sales were almost certain to reach a respectable level. A poorly received sequel could still move half as many units as its predecessor. An average one would sell two-thirds as many, and a well-received one would likely match or exceed the original’s numbers. Keyboard Warrior was already writing its own legend, and a proper sequel—regardless of how harshly it was judged—would still move at least five hundred thousand copies. That figure looked modest next to the current one-point-five million, but a year ago it would have been unthinkable.
So why two titles? Did ID Technology even have the resources to develop two pieces of software at once? In practical terms, the only real developer on staff was Yoo Jae-won himself. The question surfaced in Hawkins’s mind just as his excitement peaked. Because Electronic Arts had maintained close ties with ID Technology, he knew the company’s current situation all too well.
“Of the two new titles, only one is a game. The other is an office productivity suite. And the one released under the ID Technology name will be the office program. The game will come out under a new label—ID Software. It won’t even be Keyboard Warrior 2.”
An office program? ID Software? Hawkins’s soaring tension dropped back to normal in an instant. Not Keyboard Warrior 2? And what exactly was ID Software? Yoo Jae-won met the president’s explosive gaze with a calm look and began to explain.
“I’d like you to consider why we chose ‘Technology’ instead of ‘Soft’ in our company name.”
Not software—technology. Naming a company was never done lightly, and ID Technology’s name had been chosen with care.
“Our company wasn’t founded to make games.”
Hawkins’s mouth fell open.
“That isn’t to say we look down on game development. Our goal has always been to remove the barrier between users and computers, to create convenient technology that lets anyone harness the power of IT. Keyboard Warrior began as a typing tutor. The game elements emerged later and turned it into a phenomenon, but that was never the original plan. Even the North American version never completely abandoned its roots as a typing trainer. Players who grind through the increasingly difficult stages will eventually type fast enough to consider becoming professional stenographers. Add network play and no one can predict what might happen.”
“Our aim is to develop advanced software like Aegis Shield and hardware that improves computer performance and usability. The upcoming office suite embodies that philosophy.”
Hawkins’s initial disappointment faded as curiosity took its place. An office suite meant word processors, spreadsheets—tools Electronic Arts already used daily. Hawkins himself rarely drafted long documents, but whenever he did, the shortcomings of existing software were glaring.
“We also recognized the commercial power of the gaming side and decided not to ignore it. We invested in the newly established ID Software, securing a 50.1 percent stake and turning it into a subsidiary.”
“Ah, so the new game you mentioned is being developed at ID Software?”
Hawkins finally understood the two-title announcement. The office suite would come from ID Technology; the game from ID Software.
“The game from ID Software will be built on ID Technology’s technical foundation. The hardware scrolling and networking features introduced in Keyboard Warrior will be passed along, combined with ID Software’s own innovations and bold ideas. The result will be a polished, high-quality title.”
Hawkins nodded. Keyboard Warrior’s success had come from more than just gameplay; it had been backed by rock-solid technology that let the fun shine through. A game built with ID Technology’s expertise would certainly have strong commercial potential. Still, technical excellence alone didn’t guarantee great gameplay, so he remained cautious.
“What kind of game is it, exactly?”
“A first-person shooter. An FPS, as we call it.”
“Hmm? There’s a genre like that?”
This was an era before the concept existed. Most action games featured a tiny on-screen character—much like Super Mario—running around shooting or punching. Yoo Jae-won grabbed a sheet of paper and sketched a quick diagram.
“Imagine placing walls on either side of the screen in Keyboard Warrior to create a sense of space. In first-person view, you’d only see the protagonist’s hands and gun. You’d move freely in every direction, blasting enemies.”
The simple drawing conveyed the idea instantly. Hawkins grasped the concept of an FPS at once. It was revolutionary—every bit as innovative as Keyboard Warrior. If executed well, the gameplay potential was undeniable. The first-person perspective promised unmatched immersion, and enemy reactions would deliver satisfying feedback.
“The setting will be the final days of World War II. The enemies are Nazis occupying a remote German castle where they’re conducting horrific human experiments to create super-soldiers. The story begins when a prisoner escapes. The castle is called Wolfenstein, so the game will be titled Wolfenstein.”
Castle Wolfenstein. John Carmack and his colleagues at ID Software were already hard at work on it using the engine Yoo Jae-won had provided. In the original timeline, ID Software had developed the game as well, but two years later than this. Yoo Jae-won’s intervention had accelerated history, and the project was now moving far ahead of schedule.
Interestingly, ID Software had originally planned a different title—one featuring a futuristic warrior in a suit identical to the one worn in Keyboard Warrior. The story was set in a future advanced enough to begin terraforming Mars. During terraforming, the team discovers a strange portal, accidentally activates it, and unleashes demons from hell. The warrior then fights through the demonic hordes. That game was DOOM—the title that would have set North America ablaze. Internal discussions, however, concluded that copying the suit design from Keyboard Warrior would create problems, and current hardware couldn’t deliver the desired 3D environments. So the team pivoted to the Nazi-hunting premise suggested by another colleague. ID Technology’s investment and technical support had come only after the switch to Wolfenstein. Yoo Jae-won had expressed mild disappointment at the delay of DOOM, but he fully supported their decision; Wolfenstein would go on to define the FPS genre and elevate ID Software to the top tier.
The fact that Hawkins was visibly excited again confirmed Wolfenstein’s likely success.
“The office suite will bundle four standalone programs—word processor, spreadsheet, database, and presentation—into a single package. We’re also considering an optional desktop publishing module. Customers can buy individual programs or the complete set, though we’ll recommend the full suite. The programs create far greater synergy when used together.”
Once the conversation shifted from games to office software, Hawkins’s demeanor changed. Professional productivity tools operated in a very different market from the entertainment software Electronic Arts distributed. That space was already dominated by the formidable Microsoft. New entrants rarely displaced established habits; unsold inventory simply piled up. Still, if acquiring distribution rights to Wolfenstein was on the table, Hawkins was willing to take a chance on the office suite as well.
“Since we don’t have alpha builds of either Wolfenstein or the office suite ready to show, it would be difficult for you to make a decision now. ID Technology has no intention of burdening its most important partner. Once the alpha versions are ready, we’ll show them to Electronic Arts first. You can decide then.”
Hawkins’s instincts screamed at him to sign immediately—alpha versions be damned. The promise of showing them first implied Yoo Jae-won would shop the titles to other distributors as well. Yet the words stayed unspoken.
“Understood. We’ll be waiting with great interest. If the products deliver as described, we’ll give them the best possible terms.”
Business sense once again overruled raw instinct. Hawkins had learned nothing from his earlier lukewarm assessment of Keyboard Warrior and the intangible losses that had followed. He would almost certainly regret this later; the chance to secure both the office suite and Wolfenstein would not come again. For now, however, even Yoo Jae-won was satisfied. The meeting at Electronic Arts headquarters was drawing to a close.
“Then allow me to treat you properly this evening.”
Properly? Yoo Jae-won perked up at the word. Was Hawkins planning to take them to some exclusive VIP lounge? Even in liberal America, escorting a minor into such an establishment would land even Hawkins in legal trouble. The more likely answer was a Michelin-starred restaurant.
“By the way, would you be available in about four days?”
“Four days? I’ll have to check my schedule, but it shouldn’t be too tight.”
In truth, it was wide open. Tomorrow’s only commitments were meeting Remington Sting and heading to Texas; the day after that was reserved for John Carmack and his team. He wouldn’t stay in Texas more than a day before returning to San Francisco to prepare for the 1990s. These were flexible plans he could shift as needed. Still, admitting that would make him and his company seem too casual.
“A broadcasting opportunity has come up, and I wanted to mention it.”
Broadcasting?
“Are you familiar with PBS?”
Yoo Jae-won nodded. It occupied a similar niche to Korea’s EBS—an educational network with nationwide reach but modest ratings. Its audience skewed heavily toward children, teenagers, and parents.
“PBS has a program called Computer Chronicle. As the name suggests, it covers computers. They’re planning a special on games, though in practice it will focus almost entirely on Keyboard Warrior. When I spoke with the producer, he expressed interest in featuring the developer.”
Yoo Jae-won had watched Computer Chronicle himself. Not during its original run, but while researching for his regression plan he had scoured YouTube archives. The show had aired biweekly from 1983 to 2002, covering software, hardware, and major events like COMDEX and CES—even Macworld. Watching the entire series offered a living timeline of computer technology. Hence the name Computer Chronicle.
“Really? Then there’s no reason to refuse. Of course I’ll appear.”
Even with lower ratings, the program reached every corner of the United States and Canada. It also supplied content to smaller regional cable stations, meaning viewers in rural Texas could watch as well. Compared to twenty-first-century variety shows the format was undeniably plain, yet no other medium offered better public relations value.
Yoo Jae-won’s immediate acceptance brightened Hawkins’s expression. If America learned that the creator of the phenomenon Keyboard Warrior was only thirteen, the publicity would be enormous—and publicity translated directly into sales.
“Well then, shall we go to dinner?”
Hawkins led the group with renewed enthusiasm. Though he hadn’t secured Keyboard Warrior 2, the meeting had been far more productive than his usual stalled negotiations with other developers.