North American Development Team Formation and Ideas About Guns (5,000 Words)

After visiting Yu Suzuki's motion capture lab, Takuya noticed that Hideo Kojima seemed a bit off.

On the way back, the guy didn't say a word, but his fingers kept tapping on his leg, as if he were playing a piano piece that no one could hear.

Takuya knew that a storm was brewing in his mind.

In his mind, the gray mannequin was already dressed in military uniform, holding a rifle, and soaring through the skies and diving into the earth in all sorts of unbelievable scenarios.

"Stop thinking about it. The hardware can't keep up. Your ideas will have to wait until the next generation of consoles." Takuya's words brought him back to reality.

Hideo Kojima seemed to wake from a dream, let out a long sigh, and his face was full of melancholy, as if he had "no place to use his talents."

As we spoke, we arrived at the core development area of Sega North America headquarters.

The person in charge, Mark, a fat white man with a huge beer belly, patted Hideo Kojima on the shoulder with his large, fan-like hands.

"Hey guys! Stop what you're doing!"

Mark's booming voice echoed through the open-plan office area, instantly drawing everyone's attention.

The rock music playing from the stereo suddenly stopped.

This place is a completely different world from the oppressive and rigid Japan workplace.

There were no cubicles, only desks more fascinating than garbage dumps, piled high with comics, figurines, leftover pizza boxes, and empty energy drink cans.

Dozens of pairs of eyes of all colors turned to look at them, scrutinizing, curious, and with a hint of barely perceptible repulsion.

"Let me introduce you all. This is Mr. Hideo Kojima, a genius designer from our headquarters in Japan!" Mark's arm was like an iron clamp, almost suffocating Hideo Kojima. "From today onwards, he will be working with us to prepare for a top-secret new project!"

Sparse applause broke out from the crowd, more like a perfunctory gesture.

Most people simply crossed their arms and looked at the rather short-statured, somewhat stunted Japan with amusement.

"Japan?" a bearded programmer whispered to his colleague, "Another one here to supervise?"

"Check our code?"

"Who knows? Hopefully his 'top secret project' will be interesting. I don't want to make any more of that ' Sonic the Hedgehog playing baseball' nonsense." Another blonde female artist twirled her pen, her tone full of mockery.

These whispers, though quiet, pierced Hideo Kojima's ears like needles.

His face remained expressionless; he simply bowed slightly to the crowd and said in fairly fluent English, "Hello everyone, I'm Hideo Kojima, nice to meet you."

Mark seemed oblivious to this undercurrent, or perhaps he was already used to it.

He pulled the Kojima aside, blocking the view of others, and said in a voice only the two of them could hear:

"Mr. Kojima, see these? These are the best bunch of jerks in our North America branch. But, we have a rule here."

He approached the Kojima mysteriously, his enormous head almost blocking out the light.

"If you want them to risk their lives for you, you can't use orders from headquarters. You have to show them real skills, make them respect you from the bottom of their hearts. You have to make them worship you, do you understand what I mean?"

Hideo Kojima paused for a moment, then understood.

This is not an ordinary international collaboration.

This was an interview, and the entire Development Department was his interviewer.

He needs to use his talent and ideas here to conquer this group of unruly United States geniuses.

Hideo Kojima's gaze swept over Mark's shoulder, taking in the entire office area.

Those people have resumed work, but their attention is clearly still partly on him.

He didn't respond to Mark immediately, but walked straight across the messy desk to a large metal cabinet in the corner of the office.

"Hey, what's that guy up to?" Dave, the bearded programmer, muttered to his colleague, arms crossed.

"Who knows, maybe they want to find a Sonic the Hedgehog game to reminisce?"

A suppressed burst of laughter followed.

Hideo Kojima ignored the warning.

His fingers traced rows of colorful Mega Drive game cartridges, as if he were inspecting his soldiers.

Altered Beast, Golden Axe, and Streets of Rage are all hardcore action games that Sega is proud of.

But this wasn't what he was looking for.

He suddenly stopped and pulled out a box with a completely different cover design from a pile of brightly colored cassettes.

Against a deep black background, a soldier holding a weapon is lurking in the shadows, and the title is in a cold, military font: METALGEAR.

"Metal Gear?" the blonde female artist read aloud in surprise.

Hideo Kojima, holding the cassette tape, turned and walked towards the dusty television and MD player in the public rest area.

The crowd parted to make way for him, and all eyes followed him.

"Hey, Mr. Kojima," Dave with the big beard couldn't help but speak up, his tone tinged with a hint of mockery, "You're not going to show us how to beat the game, are you? We have plenty of experts here."

Hideo Kojima didn't turn around; he simply inserted the cartridge into the console with a "click" and pressed the power button.

The TV screen flickered, followed by the classic "SE~GA~" startup sound, and then the game's title appeared.

However, Hideo Kojima did not take any action.

Simply leave the title screen untouched, and the opening animation will start automatically.

When the opening animation reached the director's name at the very end, it clearly stated "Hideo Kojima".

Then the blonde female artist exclaimed in shock, "You're Kojima?!"

Just as Hideo Kojima was trying to win over his United States colleagues, Nakayama Takuya once again arrived in Owings, Maryland.

His purpose in coming here was to meet the military advisor that Tom Clancy had introduced him to.

In an unassuming steakhouse in town, Clancy was struggling to eat a T-bone steak with a knife and fork, muttering complaints about the Paramount producers' amateurish revisions to the script.

"They thought it was too stuffy inside the submarine and wanted to add a scene where the crew was having a party on deck in the Arctic Ocean! God, I really wanted to stuff them into torpedo tubes and launch them."

Takuya smiled as he cut off a small piece of filet mignon, listening to Clancy's rant, and felt that this bestselling author was more down-to-earth than any of his characters.

Just then, the restaurant door was pushed open, and a man walked in.

He was of medium build, wearing a faded flannel shirt and old jeans. His skin was dark from years of outdoor activities, and his eyes were calm yet sharp. He didn't look like a soldier; he looked more like a contractor who had just finished get off work at a construction site.

The man walked straight to their booth, pulled out a chair, and sat down with swift and decisive movements.

"Jim, you're late." Clancy put down her knife and fork.

"Traffic jam." The man called Jim coughed succinctly, then turned to Takuya, extending his hand. "James White."

His hands were rough and strong, and the handshake lasted very short.

"Nakayama Takuya." Takuya replied.

Without further ado, White beckoned a waiter over, ordered a dark beer, and then looked at Takuya: "Tom said you're going to make a game about special forces?"

His tone was flat, making it impossible to tell whether he was curious or skeptical.

"Not entirely." Takuya wiped his mouth with a napkin, leaning forward slightly. "Most of the ones on the market involve players playing an invincible hero, charging into enemy-strewn scenes with a gun, their life or death decided by reaction speed. That's not tactics, that's gambling."

White's eyebrows twitched, as if he had become interested.

"What I want to create is more like a 'tactical planning simulator'," Takuya continued. "Imagine you're facing a building occupied by bandits, with hostages inside. Before the operation begins, you have a complete floor plan of the building. Your task isn't to rush in, but to solve the problem from the blueprints."

He dipped his finger in water and drew a simple square on the dark dining table.

"This is the entrance. There are three terrorists, one at the door, two deep inside the room, and the hostage is here." He marked several points in the box. "The usual gameplay is to breach the door and then pray your shooting is accurate. My game, however, requires you to plan the basic tactical direction for your four-person squad before taking action, assigning tasks according to each member's weapons and abilities."

His fingers moved across the table, tracing several intersecting attack routes.

"After Team One breaches the door, they throw a flashbang. Team Two and Three follow behind, providing suppressive fire to the left and right fan-shaped areas respectively. Team Four engages in precise sniping from the window, eliminating the most threatening targets to the hostages. All actions are timed down to the second. You set everything up, press 'Execute,' and then watch your plan execute flawlessly, adjusting tactics rapidly as needed, or—failing completely due to a tiny mistake."

Clancy listened with great interest; this was precisely the most captivating part of his novel—professionalism, rigor, strategic planning, and flexibility.

White silently took a large gulp of beer.

"Plans can never keep up with changes." He finally spoke, his words hitting the nail on the head. "What if there's a fourth enemy you don't know about?"

What if the hostages are in a different location than you expected? On the battlefield, unexpected events are the norm.

Clancy's expression turned serious; this was a question truly coming from a professional.

Takuya smiled.

"So this is the part I need to adjust during combat, after the initial planning."

"If the plan fails, the player won't get an instant second life." He looked into White's eyes and said, word by word, "He will see his teammates fall because of his wrong decisions, and the mission will fail. The only thing he can do is go back to the planning interface, recall the replay of the failure, review it over and over again, and figure out exactly where his plan went wrong. Until he formulates a truly comprehensive and perfect plan that takes into account all the variables."

"This isn't a game that tests players' marksmanship; it tests their intelligence and even their basic military tactics skills."

White stared at Takuya for a good ten seconds, the scrutinizing gaze that filled the office reappearing, but this time, there was something else in it.

He nodded, leaned back in his chair, and completely Panasonic.

"Interesting." He picked up a napkin and pen from the table. "I can teach you what a real four-man team would do in this situation. From how they break down the door, to the equipment each person carries, to the gestures and slang they use to communicate. But..."

He looked up. "Consulting fees aren't cheap. My time is worth far more now than when I was risking my life on the battlefield."

"We pay for expertise, and we're never stingy with it." Takuya smiled and extended his hand again.

"Very good." White grasped his hand firmly, then released it just as quickly. "Let's sign a letter of intent first; we'll discuss the details once the project starts."

He pulled a sturdy business card from his wallet and handed it over. It had only a name and a phone number on it, as clean as he was.

With the steaks finished, the atmosphere at the table shifted from tense business negotiations to more casual conversation.

Clancy was still going on and on about how unreliable Hollywood screenwriters were.

"Seriously, Takuya, your game idea is way more professional than theirs." Clancy took a big gulp of beer and burped contentedly. "The last time I visited a film set, they actually wanted the sonar operator in the submarine to have a cat as a pet at the control console! They said it would increase the character's approachability. I asked him, 'Do you want everyone on the ship to think there's a ghost ship meowing like a cat next to them?'"

Takuya smiled, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and neatly arranged his knife and fork.

He looked at James White across from him. This man didn't say much from beginning to end, but every word he uttered hit the nail on the head.

He was leaning back in his chair, the oppressive scrutiny gone, replaced by a relaxed and languid air.

"James, speaking of hardware," Takuya changed the subject quite naturally, "I took some time during my trip to the United States to visit the shooting range."

White looked up at him, said nothing, but made a "go on" expression.

"I tried the M16, and I also tried an AR-15 with a red dot sight," Takuya recalled. "The experiences were worlds apart. But I also discovered a problem: those accessories like scopes, flashlights, and grips were too troublesome to install."

He gestured with his finger on the table, explaining, "Everything has its own way of being fixed. Screws come in all sorts of sizes, and you need a whole set of tools—it's a mess, not universal at all. It's like trying to fit a VCR into a TV; every manufacturer has a different interface, so you have to buy a ton of adapters. This is unthinkable in consumer electronics, but in the firearms industry, it seems like everyone's gotten used to it."

Clancy chimed in, deeply agreeing, "Exactly! Those parts companies practically want you to replace the whole gun for every single part you change."

White had been silent until now, when he suddenly let out a cold laugh.

"Habit? There's no choice." His voice wasn't loud, but it abruptly stopped Clancy's complaints. "On the battlefield, we call it 'battlefield modification.' Using wire, tape, even cable ties, we forcibly strap flashlights to the handguard. Because of the standard equipment you were issued..."

It may simply be unsuitable for nighttime urban warfare.

He picked up the knife from the table and gestured with it on his steak plate.

"If your sights are off by 0.1 millimeters, a bullet at 100 meters could miss its impact point by half a meter. Half a meter is enough to send you and your teammates to meet your maker." White put down his knife with a crisp sound. "So, we'd rather use the dumbest method and fix it securely. The problem you're talking about isn't about habit; it's about human lives."

The air fell silent instantly; the weight of White's words made even the beer foam seem heavy.

Takuya looked at him, his eyes showing no sign of backing down, but instead brightening.

So why isn't there a unified standard?

He asked directly and frankly.

"A Lego -like interface allows any accessory from any manufacturer to be easily and securely mounted in any position on any gun. Simple, versatile, and reliable."

Clancy opened his mouth, seemingly wanting to say something about a conspiracy theory like "military-industrial complex," but after glancing at White, he swallowed his words.

White did not answer.

He leaned forward slightly, and that sharp, soldierly air emanated from him once again.

"What do you want to do?" White's voice was lower. "Can we establish a standard?" Takuya said succinctly, "So that firearms production can refer to this standard. In the future, no matter which factory produces a scope, laser designator, or anything else, as long as it meets this standard, it can be installed with a simple operation. No need for complicated tools, no need to find professionals, it's as simple as putting batteries in a toy."

"Plug and play." Takuya circled his name on his head with his finger. "Right now, I have this perfect design idea in my head."

White fell silent.

What flashed through his mind were not the fancy modified guns on the shooting range, but the mountains of various types of sight mounts piled up in the logistics warehouse, and the fatal scene on the battlefield where a soldier's scope went out of sight because of a loose screw.

A unified, modular standard platform?

Does this Japan even realize what he's saying? This isn't a product; it's a revolution.

A revolution that could change the entire small arms industry ecosystem and even affect the military procurement system. Of course, this also means new business opportunities.

"Therefore, I need a company with enough influence to promote this standard." Takuya looked at White, his gaze frank. "Ideally, they should have a voice in the Rifle Association and strong connections with the military. After much consideration, Colt is the most suitable."

White picked up his glass and downed the rest of his stout in one gulp.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his rough fingers tapping lightly on the table, making a dull sound.

"Colt Company and the Navy do have a good relationship," he said slowly, as if talking to himself, yet also as if answering Takuya. "I can help you get in touch with the person in charge."

"Thank you so much! As for the consultation fee—"

White raised his hand to interrupt him.

"Mr. Nakayama," he used honorifics for the first time, "We need to renegotiate my consulting fees."

He looked at Takuya and said, slowly and deliberately, "Making a game for you is the price of a technical consultant. But getting this idea onto the table of the Colt board of directors is a whole different story."

White's lips curled into a wide grin, revealing a set of white teeth, like a shark that had caught the scent of blood.

"Believe me, Sega will definitely get a good deal on this money."

"Of course, this would be a good project." Takuya raised his glass to White.

White refilled his glass and clinked it with Takuya's.