Reactions from All Sides to Metal Slug
Tokyo, Sega Headquarters.
Inside the Managing Director's Office, the fax machine emitted a rapid beeping sound, spitting out a sheet of paper that was still quite warm.
The assistant quickly stepped forward to take it, and after just one glance, an uncontrollable excitement appeared on his face. He jogged over and handed the fax to Nakayama Takuya's desk.
"It's an urgent message from Redwood City! From Mr. Tom!"
"The first batch of 2,000 units sold out within two hours! We need another 20,000 units! Immediately!"
After reading it, Nakayama Takuya couldn't help but smile.
He casually tossed the fax paper aside, his movements unhurried, as if this expected piece of good news was just an ordinary document in his workday.
"What about the daily production and logistics progress report from this morning?" he asked without looking up.
"It's ready for you." The assistant immediately handed over another neatly printed report.
Takuya glanced at the data above, and every number matched his plan perfectly.
He picked up the phone, ignoring Tom's telegram-like fax, and dialed directly to the president's office at Redwood City.
The call was answered almost instantly, and Tom - Kalinske's voice, still excited and even a little hoarse, came through the receiver.
"Takuya? Is that you, my God! You would never believe what happened here!"
"I can probably guess," Nakayama Takuya chuckled, leaning back in his chair, "Did someone almost demolish your warehouse just to steal a prototype?"
There was a second of silence on the other end of the phone, followed by an even louder roar from Tom: "How did you know?!"
Did you install cameras here? That guy really drove off in a beat-up pickup truck and ripped off our precious little thing! You know what? Two thousand cameras, in less than two hours!
"Calm down, Tom, calm down," Takuya said with a hint of teasing. "I Tokyo Metropolis. Don't worry, I've already prepared your ammunition."
"Ready?" Tom's voice was full of surprise.
"That's right," Takuya, flipping through the reports in his hand, his voice steady and forceful, "Twenty thousand brand-new arcade cabinets will arrive at the Port of San Francisco tomorrow. They were shipped directly from the OEM factory in China."
"As for the core System 32 Board and Metal Slug cartridges, the first batch of 10,000 sets will arrive by air the day after tomorrow. The remaining 10,000 sets will be delivered next week. This is already allocating all the production capacity from the Japan market to you. In order to make this storm blow even more fiercely in the United States, we haven't even sold a single unit ourselves."
Tom on the other end of the phone was so excited he was almost incoherent, only able to keep repeating, "That's great—that's great—I really love you to death, Takuya!"
"Also," Takuya added, changing the subject, "Remember to send out a notice reminding those savvy arcade owners that the System32 board and the System16 chassis are incompatible. Don't let them try to modify it themselves and damage the motherboard; we won't be responsible for after-sales service."
"I understand, let them give up on that idea."
"However, let's not rule it out completely," Takuya added. "If they really want it, they can order the circuit board and games separately. We can even give them access to the hardware specifications of the chassis, but that will have to wait until I've shipped out these 20,000 units. But—"
He paused deliberately, then chuckled, "I suspect they can't find a cheaper supplier of picture tubes and power supplies in the United States than us."
This confidence stems from the vast industrial chain network that Nakayama Takuya has already woven across Asia.
The core component of this arcade machine cabinet, the picture tube, was sourced from the Panasonic -city joint venture factory in Beijing.
In 1991, Japan's picture tube technology and cost control were unparalleled in the world. Coupled with the low labor costs of factories in China, costs were driven down to an astonishing level.
What's even more remarkable is that Sega settled all its orders with these China suppliers in US dollar.
In an era where foreign exchange is extremely precious in China, any factory that receives a US US dollar order from Sega will treat it as a top priority, ensuring that there have never been any delays in the entire supply chain.
After hanging up the phone, Nakayama Takuya looked out the window at the dazzling Tokyo night view, a playful smile on his face.
The assistant, watching with great excitement, couldn't help but ask, "Executive, are we really not going to release it in the Japan market first? The shops in Akihabara have received news from the United States, and our Sales Department is being bombarded with calls."
"Let them wait a bit longer," Takuya turned around, a glint of ambition in his eyes. "Let the United States build up the atmosphere to its peak first. Once Metal Slug has quickly taken over the North America market, we'll bring it back home. The explosive power then will be far greater than it is now."
Meanwhile, in Los Angeles, in a not-too-large arcade, the owner, Louis, was wiping the sweat from his brow with a towel, looking at the brand-new Metal Slug by the door.
This machine was a prototype that he had "snatched" from the Sega warehouse in Redwood City two days ago at great expense. He and his 200-pound partner almost strained their backs trying to get it off that beat-up pickup truck.
The other machines around were still playing their standby music from Street Fighter or Mortal Kombat, but in front of this new machine, those former kings seemed somewhat forlorn.
A boy wearing a basketball jersey eagerly tossed in a twenty-five-cent coin.
"Metal Slug!"
The crisp and highly distinctive electronic sound effects instantly pierced through the noise of the entire arcade.
Almost simultaneously, more than a dozen heads crowded around.
The arcade machine was rushed to the center of the arcade by the arcade owner at midday. As soon as it was moved in, it attracted a lot of attention. However, seeing that the boy was already waiting on the side, they decided to take a look first.
On the screen, the chibi-style figure wearing a headband began to run, its movements so fluid they seemed out of place for this era.
The boy controlled his jumps and shots, the bullets flying out without the slightest delay.
When the first enemy soldier was hit, letting out a comical scream and falling in a backflip, the first gasp of surprise came from the crowd.
"Hey! Look at how that guy died!"
"My God, this scene is so clean!"
Soon, the situation began to spiral out of control.
Explosions appeared one after another on the screen, with tanks, planes, and watchtowers being blown to pieces in the flames, but the game ran smoothly without any lag.
The young gamer's fingers frantically pressed the buttons, his adrenaline surged, and his mouth opened and closed nervously.
"Heavy Machine Gun!"
When that signature deep male voice rang out, the weapon in the little man's hand changed to a huge heavy machine gun, and bullets poured out like a waterfall, instantly wiping out everything on the screen.
A burst of cheers and whistles erupted from the crowd.
"That's it! That's the voice!" a young man exclaimed excitedly, patting the person in front of him on the shoulder.
"This is awesome! It's even more exciting than setting off fireworks!"
The first boy died because he didn't control the distance well when he jumped and fell into the river below. He was swallowed whole by a large fish that leaped out of the water and then spat out a string of complete skeletons.
The crowd was taken aback at first, then burst into laughter.
"Hahaha! You can die like that?"
"This game is hilarious!"
The coin-insertion sound rang out again, and another boy eagerly joined in as the second player.
The owner, Louis, stood behind the bar. He had initially felt bad about the stack of cash he had handed over, but now he just silently watched the red light flashing on the coin slot of the machine, his face trembling with laughter.
What he saw was not a game console, but a machine that was spitting out money like crazy.
This isn't a game console, it's a money-printing machine!
Such scenes played out simultaneously in arcades across major cities in the United States within just a few days.
In Texas, a burly man dressed as a cowboy slammed his fist on the empty space next to the machine, not because he had lost, but because he was so excited. He yelled at the screen, "Give me another tank!"
On Florida's Sunshine Coast, a group of young people, shirtless after surfing, surrounded a Metal Slug, arguing whether the submarine level was more fun or driving a mini-tank and blasting everything in sight was more exciting.
In New York, the East Coast dealer who bought 300 machines in one go is now getting his phone ringing off the hook with calls from arcade owners.
"Hey! I don't care what method you use! Get me ten more! Money's no object!"
"What? Out of stock? I don't care! My customers are practically tearing my shop apart trying to get those only two Metal Slug!"
Those business owners who hesitated because of the price of the System 32 Board are now kicking themselves.
They finally realized that compared to a machine that could make players line up to insert coins, the price difference was nothing!
Delaying the product launch by even one day is like handing over piles of money to someone else!
Redmond, Washington State.
In the president's office, Minoru Arakawa held a cup of coffee, examining the huge North America map on the wall. The map was covered with NES sales outlets marked with different colored pins, forming a dense, red empire.
Vice President Howard Lincoln knocked on the door and placed a market news briefing on Minoru Arakawa's desk.
"Sega has some new developments," Lincoln's voice remained as steady as ever. "They've released an arcade game called Metal Slug. The first batch of two thousand units sold out within two hours at the dealer conference. The market response—was extremely enthusiastic."
Minoru Arakawa didn't even turn his head; his gaze remained fixed on the area on the map that represented New York.
"Arcades?" He took a sip of coffee, his tone flat. "Howard, we at Nintendo have never played that game of twenty-five-cent games. That's Capcom and Namco's territory."
"I know, but this is a bit unusual," Lincoln adjusted his glasses. "The report mentions that the game's graphics far surpass all current arcade machines, Sega has specially released a new board called System32 for it."
"A new circuit board?" Minoru Arakawa finally turned around, but his face showed little interest, instead carrying a hint of mockery. "Tom Kalinske, always dabbling in these flashy but impractical things. Two thousand units sounds like a lot, but for us, it's just a day's worth of cartridge sales in some big city."
He walked behind his desk and sat down, casually flipping through the briefing. When he saw the exaggerated descriptions of the visual details and smoothness, he even chuckled.
"Let players stand in the arcade marveling at the graphics? Our Super Mario World and the upcoming the Legend of Zelda will let them comfortably sit on their couches at home and enjoy a wonderful afternoon of adventure. Isn't that much more pleasant than a noisy arcade filled with the smells of cigarettes, herbs, and even alcohol?"
Lincoln nodded and did not argue further.
He knew the president's strategic focus and agreed with the strategy.
Nintendo's empire was built in the living rooms of countless homes, not in those noisy, dimly lit arcades.
"Understood." Lincoln put away the documents, turned, and left the office.
Minoru Arakawa leaned back in his large executive chair, his fingers unconsciously tapping on the table.
Two thousand units sold – that's indeed a good result.
But so what?
Arcade games are just arcade games after all.
In Minoru Arakawa's view, Sega's move was merely a last gasp.
They lagged behind the Super Famicom (SFC) in console performance. Once Nintendo's the Legend of Zelda: Triforce of the Gods was released, the SFC's sales would quickly catch up, while the Mega Drive (MD), with its slightly inferior performance, would have to take a backseat. Sega would then have no choice but to return to the arcade market where it originated to regain some face.
This is more like a strategic, incompetent rage.
He had no idea that the hardware technology and design philosophy behind this arcade game, which he looked down upon, had quietly ushered in a new era.
Minoru Arakawa, as if shooing away an annoying fly, completely forgetting about the information.
His enemy was always the black Mega Drive in the living room, not the flashing neon lights of the arcade on the corner.
Thus, this information was treated as routine market intelligence, tucked into an unremarkable folder, and sent across the Pacific Ocean back to the headquarters in Kyoto, Japan, along with the North America headquarters' regular reports.
In the intelligence department office, an assistant was carefully categorizing the compiled documents.
When he handed Shigeru Miyamoto a briefing labeled "North America Arcade Market Dynamics," Sega's additional 10,000 Metal Slug units had already been distributed in the United States and were frantically devouring young people's twenty-five-cent coins.
On Shigeru Miyamoto's desk lay numerous design sketches for the Legend of Zelda: Triforce of the Gods, and the map of Hyrule was covered with dense markings.
He picked up his now-cold coffee, took a sip, and frowned.
He took the briefing, intending only to clear his head during a break from thinking, and casually glanced at it.
"Metal Slug ----"