Hidden Danger
The New Year's bells of 1993 had just rung, and the smoke of the two-month-long business war finally dissipated.
After the fierce year-end promotional battle, Sega, Nintendo, and the third-party manufacturers who made a killing are now like pythons that have just swallowed a whole cow, quietly digesting their food in their respective territories.
The market has entered a brief period of calm.
While gamers stayed home day and night, playing through the discounted game cartridges they had snagged, the only sound in the game company's Development Department was the clatter of keyboards.
Nakayama Takuya sat in his office at headquarters, a stack of samples awaiting review sent from the United States branch beside him.
The festive atmosphere of the New Year still lingered in Tokyo outside the window, but his expression now resembled that of someone chewing a piece of expired gum.
"What the hell is all this stuff?!"
He casually tossed a CD back onto the table; the cover featured several terrified girls and a man in black holding a strange drill—<Night Trap>.
This is a new Sega-CD title submitted by Digital Pictures in the United States, touted as a "groundbreaking live-action interactive movie game".
It was truly groundbreaking, and groundbreakingly bad.
As a time traveler, Nakayama Takuya had long heard of this game, but after actually playing it, the physical discomfort he experienced still made him want to complain.
Putting aside the abysmal graphics, which look like they've been pixelated after being compressed by Sega-CD, the game's design logic alone is infuriating.
The production team is clearly suffering from a kind of mental breakdown.
They wanted to make a horror game, so they created a bunch of Augers wielding drills who invaded the house.
But perhaps the director had too much to drink during filming, because the villains looked ridiculous, like extras who had just escaped from a cheap tokusatsu set, and their gait was unsteady and lacked any sense of intimidation.
To circumvent censorship, they deliberately reduced the amount of gore, resulting in a film that was neither scary nor funny, resembling a sitcom.
What's even more problematic is the gameplay.
The screen is filled with monitor feeds, and players have to switch cameras like a security guard to find the group of drillers and then press the button at the right moment to trigger the trap.
Do you want to see the plot?
Sorry, but if you focus solely on the blonde girl in her pajamas talking, you'll definitely miss the invading enemy, and then it's Game Over.
If you want to win, you have to keep your eyes glued to those boring corridors and empty rooms; there's no time to pay attention to the plot.
This is a self-contradictory, unfinished product.
"For something like this to become popular, the sun would have to rise in the west." Nakayama Takuya rubbed his temples, about to draw an X on the approval form, when his pen suddenly stopped in mid-air.
etc.
His pupils contracted slightly.
Night Trap.
A switch deep within my memory was flipped.
The reason this game is "famous in history" in its previous life is not because it was fun, but because it got into a lot of trouble.
In the United States, this game was seized upon by some moralists for its alleged "violent innuendo against women" and "voyeurism," and the issue was brought all the way to the House of Councillors.
That was the fuse.
Nakayama Takuya sat up abruptly, his fingers tapping rapidly on the table.
If Night Trap is submitted for review now, it means that an even bigger bombshell has likely already been dropped.
The real culprit that ignited public outrage, terrified parents across America, and forced the gaming industry to implement a rating system—
Mortal Kombat.
Damn it.
Nakayama Takuya cursed under his breath, quickly turned on his computer, and pulled up Sega North America Branch sales records database.
The sound of keyboard clicks was unusually rapid in the quiet office.
The screen flickered as lines of data scrolled by.
Found it.
<MortalKombat>, Release Date: October 8, 1992.
Just a few months ago, while he was busy organizing esports tournaments, this fighting game had quietly spread throughout video game stores in North America.
He opened the detailed report.
Sales have been excellent; the arcade version is incredibly popular, and while the home console version is just starting out, it's gaining tremendous momentum.
The review department's comments in the report were only a few sentences: "American-style fighting game, realistic art style, decent controls, recommended for approval."
"Alright my ass!" Nakayama Takuya couldn't help but slam his fist on the table.
Those guys who reviewed it definitely didn't play to the end, they didn't see that "finishing move" that rips a person's spine and skull out together!
The gaming industry today is like an untamed wild west.
There are no ratings, no warnings; if you can make it, you can sell it to a six-year-old.
Before Mortal Kombat, pixelated violence was acceptable to most people, since it was a cartoon.
However, Mortal Kombat uses digital images of real people, and the realism of the blood splattering is absolutely a nuclear-level visual impact in this era.
It is early 1993.
If history doesn't change, in a few months, United States. Senator Joe Lieberman will be raging at a hearing with these two games in hand, pointing his finger at Sega and calling them a "cancer that is corrupting United States youth."
That was one of the darkest moments in video game history. Nintendo even took advantage of the situation at the hearing, portraying itself as a victim of "family fun" and Sega for the whole thing.
Nakayama Takuya leaned back in his chair, looking at the bright sunshine outside the window, and felt a chill run down his spine.
Crises often arise not from a direct attack by the opponent, but from these seemingly insignificant blind spots.
The wall clock pointed to 9:45.
Based on the time difference, it's currently a little past 4 PM at Sega of America Headquarters in Redwood City, California —a time when people are having afternoon tea or getting ready to pack up and leave work.
Takuya grabbed the phone on the table and skillfully dialed the transoceanic number.
The phone was answered after only two rings.
"Good morning, Takuya. Or rather, good night?" Tom Kalinske's voice carried an undisguised lightness, clearly indicating a successful Christmas sales season. "If you're here to praise MD's sales last quarter, I suggest you send a fax; international calls are quite expensive."
"Tom, put the champagne down first." Takuya's fingers were twirling the phone cord, his tone utterly joking. "If you have a Mortal Kombat sales report on hand, you'd better also take a couple of aspirin."
There was a two-second silence on the other end of the phone. Tom's playful expression vanished. "What happened? I remember that game was selling really well; arcade owners were all lining up to place orders."
"The problem is that it sold too well, and it's too realistic." Takuya stared at the glaring data on the computer screen. "I just read the review department's notes. They obviously didn't tell you that there's something called a 'finishing move' in this game that can pull a person's head and spine out like a radish."
"United States all like this, violent aesthetics. Isn't that how Hollywood makes movies?" Tom said dismissively.
"Hollywood movies have ratings; R-rated films aren't sold to six-year-olds. But our cassettes are right there on the most prominent shelf in Walmart, available to any toddler." Takuya paused, emphasizing his point, "Imagine if a senator's grandson, at a family gathering, demonstrated how to rip out an opponent's heart and crush it in front of the whole family, what do you think that senator would say at the Capitol Building the next day?"