Chapter 6
Chapter 6
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Silver Dragon
Chapter: 6
Chapter Title: Demo Version
-----------------------------------------------------------------
'The game graphics are smoother than expected. Did they handle the graphics in assembly language?'
Greg honestly hadn't held high hopes for the game he was playing now, Curse of Los Altos Hills.
The design document was so neatly organized it could be grasped at a glance, but the main event—the game itself—was just two floppy disks' worth. That was the reason.
Recent games typically came on four floppies, and it wasn't uncommon for them to exceed five. In such an era, a two-disk game clearly had its limits, leaving him no choice but to rate it low.
But after installation and firing it up, Greg immediately realized it had been a misjudgment.
'This is downright terrifying. Even if you optimize and streamline the code as much as possible, compressing it to this level...'
As a Caltech alum himself, Greg could tell at a glance just how impressive the game running before his eyes was.
Sure, there were those sloppy games that made you think, "I could do better than this myself." But right now, he couldn't even fathom what tricks they'd used to pack so much into such a tiny footprint.
'Not arcade, not RPG. Not even the hot new FPS genre. So what do you call this?'
The structural brilliance wasn't the only surprise.
No matter how cleverly the code was written or the design compressed, if the game itself wasn't fun, it'd all be for nothing.
But Curse of Los Altos Hills was more than fun enough as a game—overflowing with it.
'Damn it. I should've placed that cheerleader on the curve to slow down the zombies...'
Normally, Greg wrapped up his game reviews in under thirty minutes.
That was plenty of time to tell if a game was properly made or not.
But he couldn't do that with Los Altos.
The nagging thought that he was just about to beat it kept him glued to the screen.
The same was true now.
Characters in Curse of Los Altos Hills were ranked by color borders for easy distinction.
During one of the village actions—"recruit talent"—Greg had snagged a cheerleader with a purple border.
At first, he couldn't figure out why a low-attack cheerleader warranted the high-rank purple. But after testing her out, it clicked.
The moment the cheerleader started jumping and cheering, the oncoming zombie horde flinched and stalled—an unbelievable sight.
Definitely not undeserving of purple rank; she had an insane effect.
But he'd botched her placement and failed to maximize it. In the end, Greg didn't make it past day 12 and retired. He was furious, practically dying of frustration.
"Damn it... First time snagging purple that early... No, luck could strike again next round!"
He could've been discouraged, but more than that, he burned to pull more high-rankers and shred the zombie hordes.
Greg was about to restart when...
Grrrrowl.
'Oh right, past lunchtime. Grab something quick and dive back in?'
His stomach's rumble made him think of a short break. He picked up the phone to ask his secretary for a sandwich and coffee.
But when the line kept ringing unanswered, Greg sensed something off. He stood, swept aside the blinds covering the office window.
And there before his eyes stretched the pitch-black city street.
"I'm blown away. You made this game all by yourself?"
"Thank you. It's just something I whipped up in my spare time, so I hesitate to call the quality top-notch."
"Nonsense! If this isn't top-notch, then no game in the world is!"
In the school cafeteria.
The Black man sitting across from me was raving excitedly about how blown away he was by Curse of Los Altos Hills.
'Bloodlines run deep, huh.'
This guy, who looked just like my classmate Jason, was Jason's cousin Jamie—a journalist at Computer Gaming World.
—We'd love to run a feature on Curse of Los Altos Hills! Care for a quick interview?
No reason to refuse.
If anything, I'd let Jason send him the game precisely hoping for this.
"It's a genre I've never seen before. Not pure action, not RPG—something totally new. Got a name in mind?"
"Defense... Since the characters block enemies, I think 'Unit Defense' fits."
"Hmm. Spot-on name, if you ask me."
Jamie scribbled every word I said in his notebook like it was holy writ.
The interview continued for about thirty minutes, covering strategies, hidden elements, and more.
Once he had enough material, Jamie wrapped up with a satisfied look.
"Thanks for the interview today. I'll push to get the article out ASAP. That way, it'll help when the game launches, right?"
"Actually, could you hold off and publish it as late as possible?"
"Huh?"
Jamie blinked in confusion at my response.
Sure, normally you'd want the article out fast to drum up buzz and hype.
But...
—I'd like to discuss a contract. Share your address and schedule, and I'll come to you.
Yesterday, an email arrived from one of the Big 3 publishers I'd been waiting for.
'And it's AE, the top dog of the Big 3.'
AE dominated game publishing, so contact from them was a golden opportunity.
'Problem is, I'm small fry.'
I knew better than anyone that even if we signed, the terms wouldn't favor me much in my current position.
No platforms like in the future for self-publishing. Back then, publishers held godlike sway over a game's life or death.
They'd slap developers and studios with stingy terms left and right.
Devs had no choice but to swallow it, tears and all.
No recourse—even self-publishing cost more than the game earned, belly bigger than the cow.
'Gotta build my own distribution platform eventually.'
I didn't have a clear fix yet, but I hadn't given up either.
For now, using a publisher was the quickest path, so I'd sign. But someday, I'd forge my own network.
All I needed was two things.
Time and money.
Time for tech to advance, capital to build the network. And for that, I needed a solid deal with AE—not some rip-off terms.
"I hear CGW sells 300,000 to 400,000 copies on average."
"Yeah, usually. But why bring that up...?"
"Wouldn't it be great if we hit a million?"
"Sure, of course."
"Run this as a magazine giveaway."
I handed Jamie the completed demo version of Curse of Los Altos Hills.
Unlike the early build Caltech students were playing, this was near-final demo quality.
The only limit was ending at day 14—otherwise, it matched the full version in every way.
"Are you insane? Giving this away free with the magazine? That's beyond crazy!!!"
Even free, Jamie vehemently refused, calling me nuts.
'What a nice guy. Other journalists would've snatched it and reneged.'
But I wasn't some saint handing out demos for free out of goodwill.
This was bait.
In the future, free demos were standard for new games.
What worried buyers most? "Will it be fun?"
Spending big only to find it mismatched expectations or tastes—that letdown was killer.
So demos let players try before buy, and if it hooked 'em, they'd grab the full game. It became the norm.
'No demo? They're hiding it 'cause it's trash and doomed.'
No matter the flashy trailers or ads, no-demo games lost trust.
"Give it away free, and who'll buy the full version? They'll copy it for friends... Hell, no need—just buy the two-buck magazine!"
Jamie's rant sounded reasonable at first.
In '90s Korea, free games bundled with mags had plagued the industry.
Players skipped paid new releases for old freebies, tanking the package market.
But...
"It's just the demo. I'm confident—anyone who plays it won't rest until they get the full thing."
"What if you're wrong...?"
"You've played the demo, Jamie. Satisfied after?"
"Hell no!"
I smiled at his instant reply.
A tease.
Reminded me of Korean games from my youth.
Back then, online games went subscription after level 18. So we'd grind free alts endlessly—sad times.
'Time you tasted it too, huh?'
Are you watching, Teacher Kim Gu?
I'll lead K-games against the nose-pickers.